A Joe Named Mercury
by Zpan Sven
Summary: At the Ironman Triathlon, Hawk catches sight of a potential Joe days before the reemergence of Cobra. After Cobra resurfaces, he recruits the young Private. Just how will this Private aid in the battle against the forces of Cobra. Under Revision
1. Look at that girl Go!

**A JOE CALLED "_MERCURY_"**

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own G.I. Joe, which makes me want to cry, because if I did, I'd own Beach Head, Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Duke, Hawk, Mercer, and a ton of cute guys...  
**AUTHOR:** Zpan Sven  
**E-MAIL:** Zpan(underscore)Sven(at)hotmail(dot)com

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I do own Mercury (Private Patricia Elizabeth Reed), Chaplain (Sophia Deheune), COBRA Televiper Fredrick "Freddy" Michealson (Codenamed Virus), Fredericka "Rikki" Michealson, COBRA ninja viper Eric Leum (Codenamed Black Mamba) and COBRA Viper Jonathan Helmsley, Jamieson "Jamie" Helmsley, Xanatos, and Ryoko. Takes place prior to issue one.

**STORY SUMMARY:** At the USAF Olympics, Hawk catches sight of a potential Joe days before the reemergence of Cobra. After Cobra resurfaces, he recruits the young Private. Just how will this Private aid in the battle against the forces of Cobra and what is the secret that resides in the Private's past that Hawk knows?  
**CHAPTER SUMMARY:** While attending as a substitute judge on the last day of the USAF Olympics, Hawk catches sight of an impressive Army Private who has the sheer force of will and strength to make it as a Joe.  
**WARNINGS:** Violence, language  
**RATING:** PG  
**GENRE:** Action & Adventure/Romance/General  
**ARCHIVE:** ask, and ye will more than likely receive!

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**CHAPTER ONE: LOOK AT THAT GIRL GO!**

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Major General Clayton M. Abernathy yawned as he leaned back in his seat, raking his fingers through his short blond hair, feeling slightly overheated in his formal dress greens in the muggy autumn air, the weight of his medals seeming heavier then normal.

"Having fun yet, Hawk?" Asked General Gardner as he puffed on his pipe, calling the other man by his old codename.

"How long will this last?" Hawk grumbled impatiently, eyeing the crowd and the teams participating on reflex. In the stands were few civilians, the family members of those participating or fellow spectators.

"You're lucky, Hawk," Gardner chuckled, "You're simply a replacement today. All you have to do today is judge track and field with the rest of us! Hell, you might even enjoy it!"

"Enjoy this?" The younger General asked in disbelief.

"I hear the Army has a female Private that can leave her more experienced male comrades from any branch in the dust," commented a tall silver haired man in an Admiral's uniform adorned with numerous medals as he sat down on the other side of Gardner. "Of course you'd have difficulty spotting her until she breaks away from the pack due to her height."

"Really, Admiral Leway?" Hawk asked as he looked over at the Admiral. Leway was notorious for his preferential treatment of the Navy over any other branch of the Armed Forces. To hear him admit that there was someone better then any of his sailors must mean it was true – and it must really stick in his craw too that his sailors were lacking in some way.

"Even _I_ have to admit it, Hawk. She's good." Leway replied with a shrug before giving the Brigadier General a meaningful look, "In fact, she'd be called GI Joe good if they were still around."

"The Events are about to begin." Gardner said as he straightened up in his chair in interest.

-

-

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The sound of a crowd cheering was unusual for Private Reed. Reed was used to the sounds of her drill sergeant bellowing orders and the even footsteps of the troops around her. Nervous, she ran a hand through her short blonde hair.

"Don't think about the crowd, Reed," one of her teammates advised sympathetically, "Just tune 'em out and run!"

"I hear ya, Fitzpatrick," Reed stated, barely paying any attention to the male Private, who blushed and stuttered out a "You're welcome"

Reed and her team sat down on the bench in their squad's alcove, waiting to be called for their event. She carefully checked her shoelaces, making certain that they were tightly laced up and double knotted.

"Reed, Fitzpatrick, you two're up for the Hundred Meter dash!" Bellowed their Sergeant.

"Sir, yes sir!" the two Privates bellowed in unison as they sprang to their feet.

Reed and Fitzpatrick took up their starting positions with the other runners, waiting for...

-

-

-

Hawk jerked slightly as the starting pistol went off, a left over reflex from fighting the forces of Cobra. The runners sprang forward and a female Army Private and a male Naval Ensign sprang to the lead of the pack. Hawk critically ran an eye over the young Private – if it hadn't been the fact the wind was plastering her shirt to her chest, he'd have had difficulty believing that was a woman. She was small and lean, looking like a young teenaged boy from her musculature; he estimated her age to still be in her teens, not having yet hit her twenties. The two were neck and neck for a second or so until the Private smirked and with a burst of speed, sprang ahead of the Ensign, crossing the finish line.

"She's the one I was telling you about." The Admiral said to Hawk as the Private and another group of runners prepared for the two hundred meter dash.

"I see her," Hawk replied softly. "She is good. Damn good. And she's not at full potential yet, I bet…"

Once more the starting pistol went off – and once more the female Private came in first place with an easy win. As the day progressed, the Private was in almost all of the track and field events, forgoing several of the throwing ones in favor of the running and jumps. She barely looked exhausted and everything seemed well until…

-

-

-

Reed was tiring, but she stubbornly refused to let its show. Her long legs easily ate up the track beneath her as she prepared to break away from the rest of the runners when the Naval Ensign from the hundred-meter dash decided to get some payback…

Hawk sat up straight in his chair as the Private went down. The crowd gave a startled gasp and then a rousing cheer as the Private was up on her feet and off in a dead run, which brought her back equal to the pack of runners and past them as she took the lead…

-

-

-

Reed felt as her ankle twisted as she went down. It wasn't broken – it wasn't hurting enough to be broken… She snarled and shoved herself back to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ankle. Her long strides carried her back to the pack of runners, and with a sneer at the shocked Ensign, past them and over the finish line, coming in first place once more.

"Reed! You OK?" Asked he concerned Fitzpatrick, "I saw him trip you – we all did!" That was said with the male Private gesturing to Sarge, the rest of the team, as well as the Marines' team. Both her team and the Marines' team were currently glaring evilly at the Ensign who had tripped her.

"I'm fine, just let me get ready for the Javelin Throw." She replied as she **walked** – she absolutely _refused_ to limp – over to pick up her Javelin.

"Reed! If you're hurt—" Sarge began.

"I'm fine -- and a soldier, sir." Reed interrupted as she prepared to walk over to the Javelin Throw.

"What sort of soldier am I if I cannot complete my mission with simply a sprained ankle if I happened to have one?"

Sarge's shoulders slumped and he shook his head in resignation. She was right – and she didn't seem to be in any discomfort, so maybe she **was** fine. Of course that could be the adrenaline talking. "Well, the only thing after the Javelin Throw is the Long Jump. After that, you are seeing the medic ASAP, just in case!"

"Yes sir!" Reed said with a perfect salute before she darted over to the other soldiers preparing for the Javelin Throw.

-

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-

The crowd cheered loudly as the Private stepped up, Javelin held firmly in her hands. Hawk smiled slightly as he watched her go through the event. '_Lady Jaye could give this Private several pointers, while Beach Head would enjoy putting her through PT – he might even be impressed by her speed, inner strength and determination._ _I have a feeling that she'd butt heads with the more stubborn of the Joes._' Hawk thought and couldn't help but picture this Private among his Joes, feeling a pang of nostalgia as he remembered his team.

Reed concealed a wince as she prepared for the Long Jump. Next to the Hurtles and the Pole Vault, it was one of her favorite events. Maybe it was because she felt like she was flying without wings… She heard the starting pistol and she darted forward, her legs pumping and her ankle throbbing.

The Private's movements were graceful and flowed together as she dashed forward, building up her momentum for the Long Jump. She lunged into the air and for a split second, seemed to fly before she landed feet first into the sand. Reed gritted her teeth as pain shot up her leg from her ankle. The officials marked her jumping distance as she stood and brushed the sand from her sweaty knees. She staggered out of the sand pit over to the rest of her team. Reed wasn't surprised in the least to see a medic waiting on her.

Hawk and the other judges tallied up the scores and the GI Joe's commander was pleased to see, that despite of her injuries, Private Reed had won the Gold for Track and Field. '_She moves like mercury…_' the General mused.


	2. Wanna be a Joe?

**A JOE CALLED "_MERCURY_"**_  
_**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own G.I. Joe, which makes me want to cry, because if I did, I'd own Beach Head, Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Duke, Hawk, and a ton of cute guys...  
**AUTHOR:** Zpan Sven  
**E-MAIL:** Zpan(underscore)Sven(at)hotmail(dot)com  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I do own Mercury (Private Patricia Elizabeth Reed), Chaplain (Sophia Deheune), COBRA Televiper Fredrick "Freddy" Michealson, Fredericka "Rikki" Michealson, COBRA vipers Eric Leum and Jonathan Helmsley, Jamieson "Jamie" Helmsley, Xanatos, and Ryoko. Takes place prior to issue one.

**STORY SUMMARY:** At the USAF Olympics, Hawk catches sight of a potential Joe days before the reemergence of Cobra. After Cobra resurfaces, he recruits the young Private. Just how will this Private aid in the battle against the forces of Cobra and what is the secret that resides in the Privates past that Hawk knows?  
**CHAPTER SUMMARY:** Cobra has reemerged. The Joes reassemble and from the very best of the Armed Forces they cull the next group of potential Joes, creating an infantry force called the Greenshirts. Among them is a Private that caught the eye of Hawk at the USAF Olympics.  
**WARNINGS:** Violence, language  
**RATING:** PG  
**GENRE:** Action & Adventure/Romance/General  
**ARCHIVE:** ask, and ye will more than likely receive!

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**CHAPTER TWO: WANNA BE A JOE?**

-

Reed leaned back in the booth, dressed in casual wear consisting of a pair of faded denims, plain white t-shirt, and a faded denim jacket. Her almost healed ankle was propped up on the seat across from her, as she observed the other people in the small all-night diner. Several were drinking various alcoholic products, ranging from beer to mixed drinks. She would have joined them except for two minor details: 1. Alcohol would have a bad reaction with the painkillers the medic had given her for her ankle, and 2. She was still technically under-aged – not like that had ever stopped her before.

Reed had joined up with the army right after her high school graduation – she had turned eighteen a couple days before her graduation – much to the displeasure of her foster parents. '_Meh, they can go suck pond scum for all I care._' She mentally snorted as she took a sip of her coffee.

"Private Patricia E. Reed?" asked a masculine voice from beside her.

Surprised, she turned her head to see who was talking to see who had addressed her and nearly fell from the booth. '_A Major General! Holy shit!_' she thought as she clumsily tried to move her ankle so she could stand up to salute the man. Not every day a General in dress greens approached a mere Private First Class, especially not on her day off in an all-night diner…

"As you were, Private," the General chuckled as he slid into the booth across from her and sat down. A waitress sauntered up to the booth and he ordered a soda from her; the woman sulked that he wasn't paying any attention to her, his eyes focused on the young 'man' across from him. His kid maybe? She sashayed off to get the soda for the three-star General.

"How may I help you, General --?" She began, eyeing him warily. The Waitress returned, setting the General's soda down and left to refill another patron's drink.

"Abernathy. General Abernathy." The older man smiled at her, "I have to tell you, I was impressed by your athletic display at the USAF – however, I was more so impressed by your determination to complete your event and to go on and compete in the last two events."

"What sort of soldier would I be if I could not carry out my orders after only spraining my ankle?" Reed asked the General, not really expecting an answer.

"Not a very good one, Private. In fact, that's one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you… How would you feel if you were asked to join an elite anti-terrorist strike force?" Abernathy enquired.

"Honored, sir – and suspicious." Reed said blandly.

"Suspicious?" Abernathy asked in surprise.

"You've read my file?" she said, cutting her eyes over to him to see his nod of confirmation. There seemed to be a hint of approval in his piercing blue eyes, but Reed passed it off as imagining things.

"You only hit him once?" the General asked, raising a blonde brow.

"One hit wonder." Reed said with a sharp bark of laughter.

"Heh." He chuckled as he sipped his soda.

"I don't trust easily, General." She told him bluntly.

"Good. Neither do I," Abernathy replied honestly.

Reed was about to reply when the doors of the diner burst open to reveal a group of bikers. _'—the Hell!_' Reed thought as her hand went to her sidearm – or at least, were her side arm was supposed to be – as she stared at the group of motley bikers.

"Shit." Reed swore. "Dreadknocks…"

"Holdin' a party without us Dreadknocks, eh?" one of the bikers slurred out.

"It's just a bunch of them civilian types, Thrasher." Another biker grunted before grinning unpleasantly, not seeing Abernathy and Reed sitting in the all but hidden booth. "I says we teach 'em a lesson!"

The instant the Dreadknocks had burst in, the entire diner went silent. Reed shifted slightly in her seat, gaining access to the weapon in her ankle holster. The sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back caused many to flinch.

"I don't think so." Reed said blandly, "I have a .50 Desert Eagle aimed at Blondie's genitals…" the blonde Dreadknock paled and his hands moved to protect his groin. "So unless you want your little buddy to be a eunuch for the rest of his miserable life, I suggest you leave."

"This ain't over by a long shot, brat!" The blonde man snarled as he and his friends backed out of the bar.

When they exited the bar, Reed gave a silent sigh of relief. "Glad I didn't have to make do on that threat…"

"Why?" Abernathy asked with an upraised eyebrow.

The Private grinned and held up a snubbed nosed revolver for the others to see – a weapon that was a far cry from the powerful one she claimed to have. The others chuckled nervously and the started joking. With in minutes, the conversations started up again, although not with the previous fervor and intensity, with many patrons darting glances at the bar's doors.

"Five to one, they've either totaled out vehicles or are waiting for us to leave so that they can get payback on the open highway." Reed mused out loud.

"Maybe both." Abernathy mumbled, wincing slightly at the thought of the damage done to his Jeep, worrying about Gung Ho. "So you've had run-ins with Dreadknocks before?"

"Yeah. Grew up in a rough neighborhood – some of the Knocks had girlfriends and kids near me." The Private snorted before sighing. "Maybe we should camp out here, wait those smelly idiots out."

"Won't be a comfortable rest," Hawk said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Better than some of the places I've had to sleep."

The General turned his head to ask her what she meant when the sounds of shouting and gunfire came from outside the bar. '_Damn Dreadknocks_.' Abernathy silently swore as he and several men stood, ready to go and check what was going on outside. They surrounded the door and Hawk was able to recognize one of the voices shouting. '_Gung-Ho._' His eyes widened slightly and he gritted his teeth as his blonde brows drew together in a scowl.

Reed cursed when she heard the gunfire and gingerly stood. She watched as Abernathy charged out of the bar, to engage the attackers. She limped out of the bar, her hands tight on the butt of her revolver. As she stepped out side, she saw the General fighting beside a bald muscular man with a tattoo of the USMC on his chest. The bald man was shouting insults at the Dreadknocks as he threw one of them over his shoulder. She grinned slightly at the bald man's fierce enthusiasm before she started to walk forward before she winced as she put more weight than she had planned on her sprained ankle.

"Need some help, Gung-Ho?" Abernathy jokingly asked the bald man as he punched a Dreadknock that was dressed like a pirate across the jaw.

"Naw, but feel free to join in on the fun anyway!" the Marine retorted good-naturedly, his voice heavy with a Cajun drawl.

"Glad you said that." Reed said dryly as she grabbed the ponytail of the blonde biker she had threatened earlier.

"Oww!" The man yelped. He then turned his head to get a good look at who held his hair. "It's you!"

"Yeah, it's me." Reed smirked before she slammed her fist into his gut. She followed that up by delivering the knee of her injured leg into the Dreadknock's gut. As he doubled over she slammed the butt of her revolver onto his upper back. The blonde biker rolled out of her range and stood up only to find himself on the business end of Reed's snubbed nosed revolver.

"You damn brat, I'm gonna…" the blonde biker started only to be interrupted by Reed pulling back the hammer of her weapon.

"Gonna what, Blondie? I warned you back in the bar. You really should have listened," she snarled.

"Guess I'm no good at listenin' to brats who act bigger then their britches!" The biker snarled before lunging at Reed.

His hand lashed out and slapped the barrel of her weapon downward. Out of reflex, her finger squeezed the trigger, and the weapon fired, sending a bullet into the biker's foot. He screamed and delivered a backhanded slap across Reed's face; she felt as her inner cheek was lacerated by the sharp edges of her teeth from the strength of the biker's blow. There was a ringing in the ear closest to where the blow landed and she shook her head to clear away the sound. The biker slammed his fist into her gut and as she started to reflexively double over, he knocked her backwards with an uppercut punch to her jaw; she could practically feel her teeth rattle. She hit the ground hard and the breath whooshed from her lungs and her weapon went flying. Reed knew she was in trouble – with her ankle damaged, she wasn't able to dodge her opponent's powerful blows and that could prove fatal. Like a horse that is dependent on its legs to run from danger, so to did Reed; in her best health, she could dodge and weave around her opponent's attacks while landing her own blows that, while not as strong as her opponent's in ways of sheer strength, would combine with the energy spent from the blows that missed -- any good fighter knows that every blow counts and that it takes more energy to miss a blow than when a blow connects.

The biker lunged again and Reed used the only weapon she had left – her uninjured leg. She slammed her good foot into the blonde man's gut and as he staggered, she swiftly moved her leg to slam her booted foot into his jaw. Another part of her mind bickered that if she had put on her army boots, she would have probably fractured her assailant's jaw. The biker was sent reeling and Reed took that time to roll over into arm's length of her revolver. She scooped up the weapon and aimed it at the biker. Her eyes colder than the Artic, she pulled back the weapon's hammer.

"Reed! Stand down!" Abernathy ordered as a MP car pulled into the parking lot, it's tires spinning, sending gravel everywhere. From the MP car came a MP and his canine partner. The MP took a look at the Dreadknocks and shook his head in disgust, obviously having to deal with them before. With a suffering sigh, he got to work handcuffing the bikers and reading them their rights.

With a flick of her thumb, the hammer returned from its primed state to its previous resting state. She bent over and tucked the weapon back into her ankle holster. The Marine called Gung-Ho grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her to her feet before he grinned down at her.

"You ain't half bad, kid!" The Marine said. He turned to face Abernathy. "Yo, Hawk! Ya think this kid would make a good Joe?"

"I know she would." Abernathy said before turning back to the MP, ignoring the Marine's look of surprise then scrutinizing gaze on the young Private, "Everything's under control for now, Law."

The MP nodded. "You want the local authorities to handle these clowns, or you want me and Order to take 'em back to the PITT, sir?"

"The locals can have 'em until we can get the chance to question them." Abernathy ordered before looking at Reed. "Well, Private? Have you considered the offer?"

"If I accept, will I be in a position to kick the asses of more jerks like we just dealt with?"

"Yes, Private."

Reed grinned. It wasn't a pleasant grin. "Hell yeah, General, I'm in!"

Abernathy raised a blonde eyebrow. "If you get through our Greenshirt program, you're going to be one hell of a Joe."

"Not _if_, sir, _when_!"


	3. In Beach Head's Army Now

**A JOE CALLED "_MERCURY_"**_  
_**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own G.I. Joe, which makes me want to cry, because if I did, I'd own Beach Head, Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Duke, Hawk, and a ton of cute guys...  
**AUTHOR:** Zpan Sven  
**E-MAIL:** Zpan(underscore)Sven(at)hotmail(dot)com  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** I do own Mercury (Private Patricia Elizabeth Reed), Chaplain (Sophia Deheune), COBRA Televiper Fredrick "Freddy" Michealson (Codenamed Virus), Fredericka "Rikki" Michealson, COBRA ninja viper Eric Leum (Codenamed Black Mamba) and COBRA Viper Jonathan Helmsley, Jamieson "Jamie" Helmsley, Xanatos, and Ryoko.Takes place during issues seven through nine. Many thanks to the great Wolfman for helping me with the revision of this fic and the writing of my other Joe fiction!

"Speech."

_'Thought.' _

_"Speaking over communicators."_

**STORY SUMMARY:** At the USAF Olympics, Hawk catches sight of a potential Joe days before the reemergence of Cobra. After Cobra resurfaces, he recruits the young Private. Just how will this Private aid in the battle against the forces of Cobra and what is the secret that resides in the Private's past that Hawk knows?  
**CHAPTER SUMMARY:** Arriving to whip both the Joes and Green Shirts into fighting trim is the Ranger called Beach Head. First day out in training, Reed and Beach Head's personalities collide in an explosion that has the Veteran Joes and the Green Shirts diving for cover so not to get caught in the crossfire. Will they survive the war of wits and wills? Will Reed manage to overcome the seemingly immovable hurdle Beach Head to finally become a Joe?  
**WARNINGS:** Violence, language, mild sexual situations  
**RATING:** PG-13  
**GENRE:** Action & Adventure/Romance/General  
**ARCHIVE:** ask, and ye will more than likely receive!  
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**CHAPTER THREE: IN BEACHHEAD'S ARMY NOW **

_Location: Wright Patterson Air Force Base, _ _Fairborn_ _Ohio_

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PFC Patricia Reed stood stiffly at attention between two of her fellow classmates, as a new face graced the assembly area in front of their formation. Unlike the short, hairy, burly, spittle-coated drill sergeants that had been berating them so far, this one virtually towered over them. The muscular soldier before them, apparently a veteran of numerous brushfire wars, paced in front of the assembly of Green Shirts without uttering a word, his mere presence intimidating the younger soldiers.

_'Now, this guy seems much tougher and a whole helluva lot meaner than my last drill sergeant_,' Reed thought as her eyeballs followed the man in his long, deliberate steps.

Compared to the other Green Shirts in formation, Reed was smaller and thinner, even after being almost fully recovered from the mistreatment and neglect that had defined her childhood in the county foster care system. And because of her thin, petite frame, she was often the target of her previous drill sergeant.

At first, she was treated like she couldn't do the same as her male comrades. The harassment and belittling stopped, of course, after she ran the others into the ground during P.T. by doing almost three to four times more then her male comrades.

Looking at the balaclava wearing man as he occasionally paused and bullied some of the other 'Shirts, Reed wondered if he would eventually do the same to her.

The other drill instructors had introduced the new face as Beach Head. He was to become the Green Shirt platoon's senior instructor. It wasn't hard to tell the man had the walk of a veteran D.I. and he was an Airborne Ranger to boot. For all of the recruits, he would serve as their mommy, their daddy, their disciplinarian and teacher, all rolled into one, as they went through their quest to become the newest members of G. I. Joe.

When the Senior D.I. finally stopped his pacing and paused to allow his steely eyes to burn into PFC Reed, she idly wondered what he saw when he turned his gaze upon her. Perhaps everyone perceived her the same way, as a snow-white, scrawny, teenaged _boy_. Certainly, they all thought of her as someone who was too much of a weakling to be the winner of an Armed Forces Olympics gold medal for Track and Field, much less a combat soldier. Her looks were certainly deceiving.

Reed's pale, cold eyes stared up at the imposing figure of Beach Head with a bored expression crossing her lips. Her slightly pointed chin was angled upwards as she tilted her head back to return his dissecting gaze. Unconsciously, her face took on the look of someone with a rather belligerent attitude… she was giving him a "Don't fuck with me" stare.

The young Green Shirt's nostrils flared slightly, as a strong scent of body odor from Beach Head crossed the small air space between them. The pungent sensation in her nose spoke volumes about the senior drill instructor's grooming habits. '_Hmm, he's also a "nature boy"_,_'_ Reed thought, remembering back to high school, where she had met similarly uncouth young men. All of them were hard core hunters and had rather nasty temperaments besides. She doubted that the grown up version would be any easier to deal with.

"You're too puny ta be a real fuckin' soldier!" Beach Head barked at Reed derisively, "Ah could snap ya in two with mah little fingers!"

"Try it and see where it gets ya." Reed growled in a low tone, her pale eyes cold and narrowing in disdain. She could tell Beach Head was thinking that she was a 'he'. '_Damn sexist pig...'_

"Don't piss me off today, Rawhide," Beach Head snarled. "Or else I'll twist off yer head an' shit down yer neck!"

"Don't try pissin' me off," Reed shot back. Beside her, a couple other Green Shirts were staring in a horrified awe at her audacity, while in the distance, Shipwreck was making a betting pool to see what would befall the poor young 'man'.

Beach Head towered over Reed, pointing his long, bony finger into her chest, as if trying to stab through her uniform with it. "Why, you scrawny, back-talking, sonufabitch... I'm gonna P.T. your ass until you die! You're not fit ta be a man in _MY_ G. I. Joe Team!"

One of Reed's blonde eyebrows began to twitch as Beach Head poked her breast -- unknowingly right where she had a scar, making the sensitive area hurt more then it would normally under the same treatment. Under the Ranger's finger, the pectoral of the young 'man' before him gave way, surprisingly soft and pliable on the lean whipcord figure of the young Green Shirt.

"I can handle anything you throw at me. Now move your finger," Reed said through clenched teeth. "Or yer gonna lose it!"

Beach Head kept prodding at her chest. "Hmm. Private Reed... Ah hope you haven't unpacked. Ya'll ain't stayin' here fer long."

Reed's fists slowly clenched at her sides and her fair complexion gradually beginning to redden as she fought to control her temper.

The Sergeant Major looked up and down the ranks and then started laughing. "Ha! A puny thang like ya'll wants ta be a REAL soldier? If you don't ring yourself outta this program, little man... Ah'm fer damn sure that ah kin fuckin' break ya."

"One: I am _not_ a **MAN**! Two: Get your hand _off_ my breast!" Reed shrieked, her voice rising into a decidedly angry feminine shriek.

In the distance Hawk was cursing and Shipwreck was laughing himself silly at the Ranger's new situation, the betting pool now including Beach Head getting kicked in the groin.

Beach Head wasn't moving fast enough for her liking. Reed's hand shot up, gripping his finger in her slender, seemingly delicate hand, and twisting it painfully away from her chest.

"It would take more then you to break me, old man!" the young Green Shirt recruit spat, her eyes an almost electric blue from her anger. "I can take anything you can dish out!"

Beach Head bent his outstretched finger, rolling it into a fist with the rest of his hand and taking hold of Reed's wrist. He pulled her roughly out of line and drew her off balance, tossing her down hard onto the concrete sidewalk in front of the assembled formation. Swiftly she rolled to her feet, one knee aching from absorbing the brunt of the fall.

"Only a select few females are welcome in this outfit, little girl," Beach Head said derisively. "Ah don't want yer fuckin' ass here to sully their reputations. Seek life elsewhere."

All of the men that were observing the exchange gasped quietly, but were too afraid of Beach Head to intervene. They could hear Reed's knuckles crack as her hands curled into fists once more. Hawk was shaking his head from a distance, seriously considering that Beach Head might be going too far for the class's first day.

PFC Reed stared at her oppressor, with an eerily blank gaze that could almost be akin to looking through the tall Ranger. The angry fire in her eyes quickly cooled to a calm alertness, as if she was preparing for combat. She was either readying herself to be attacked, or planning to initiate an assault of her own against Beach Head for his insults.

Her feet shifted slightly, as her body settled ever-so-subtly into a defensive stance. She kept her balled fists loose by her sides, ready to lash out in a moment's notice. Reed's slow and deliberate positioning wasn't learned from any formal martial arts training - rather, it was picked up from her childhood of fighting on the streets for her very survival.

Had the times been different, her right hand would've instinctively gone for the razor-sharp, saw-toothed M-9 bayonet blade that hung from her equipment belt, much like the rusty, blood-stained switchblade she carried in her jeans pocket as a kid. But she had fought the urge to escalate the situation by drawing her bayonet against Beach Head.

Reed's emotionless eyes became locked on Beach Head's, calculating the danger she faced. Her mind raced to analyze how big a threat the burly Ranger would be, and how much effort it would require to take him down unarmed. She also kept tabs on where Beach Head's hands moved, ready to strike out with a fist of her own if he tried to make a move on her.

Unconsciously, Reed shifted her weight to her left foot and centered her balance. She was ready to spring into action. Her body was tight and primed to dodge Beach Head, with fists poised to counter-attack against any move that he made.

"Don't move a twitch, if you value your health," Beach Head snarled at Reed, whirling on his heels to face the rest of the rawhide class. He raised his voice to make sure all of the assembly heard him, even though his normal speaking voice boomed.

"_Lesson one_, you rawhide meatheads," Beach Head began, his voice carrying across the parade field. "_IF_ you want to survive G.I. Joe transition training... _IF_ you want to earn a code name and join _MY_ elite fighting force... _IF_ you want to earn the respect of the people that thought you might have the swingin' dicks ta cut it as a Joe and invited ya here... Ya'll need to learn that this force is a _TEAM_. There is no individuality here. _We all come home, or nobody comes home!_ You slimy tadpoles will all pull your weight together, or you'll be goin' home with yer tails between yer fuckin' legs!"

Beach Head paused for a moment and then added, "_Lesson two:_ Ah'm the sole deciding vote, whether you stay or go. So, you _WILL_ impress me, or you _WILL_ leave! Do you turds get me?"

"_We get you, Sergeant Major!_" the assembly chanted, Reed included.

Beach Head began to pace up and down the lines. "You shits-fer-brains are gonna learn that there's lots worse things ta be afraid of other than me. Death is gonna whisper in yer ears every night, and yer all gonna feel like ah'm killin' ya slow, just ta watch ya suffer. Ah don't give a rat's ass. My job is ta make ya ready fer war - the dirtiest, bloodiest, grittiest kind - up close an' personal. Now, the way ah see it, none of you fuckin' slimebags stood up ta help yer _FEMALE_ counterpart here. _NONE_ of ya. So, _ALL_ of ya owe me one hundred fifty Marine pushups. Get on yer fuckin' faces!"

Reed dropped into the exercise easily, weight braced and ignoring the throbbing of her knee; by now it was probably a dark black and blue. As Reed was working at her pushups, she could see the muddy tops of Beach Head's boots square off in front of her. Her lips pulled back to bare her teeth into a savage, silent growl.

"Soon as you finish yer pushups, rawhide," Beach Head said softly. "Get ta the dispensary and pay Lifeline a visit. Have him check yer knee out before we take our first morning jog together. Ya get me?"

"It's fine," Reed growled.

"It won't be after twenty-five miles, kid," Beach Head said. "Don't be a stubborn little bitch when ah give ya an order."

"Twenty-five miles?" Reed said with a defiant huff. "Sounds like fun!" A savage grin crossed her face, as she made her defiance of Beach Head's abuse known.

The Ranger turned to walk away from the group of recruits, leaving them to finish their assigned exercises. "If ah don't see a chit from Lifeline sayin' that he checked you out, Reed," he added, "yer gonna do fifty miles today. Ah will run yer narrow ass until you fuckin' die... because mah opinion of you hasn't changed. You don't belong here."

"You'll get the chit," she growled. "And you'll see, _old man_... I _am_ a Joe."

Beach Head either didn't hear Reed's last growl, or he ignored her as he walked away to his office, leaving a pair of assistant instructors to walk through the rawhides, shouting and urging them on to finish their pushups.

-

-

-

_Location: _ _Philadelphia__ Naval Base _

Not even a full day had passed since Beach Head's arrival and the platoon had been suddenly shipped out to Philadelphia to what was a decommissioned Naval Base at first glance. Slowly the security increased as word trickled among the ranks of the Green Shirts of a Cobra assassin -- a _ninja_ of all things -- calling himself Storm-Shadow had somehow breached security and was out to kill the General! When word came from Mainframe that the would-be killer had been spotted, they moved. Reed's heart pounded in her ears as adrenaline raced through her veins.

_'No way in hell was this ninja freak was gonna get the General!'_ Her boots echoed loudly as Reed hauled ass down the corridor following Beach Head, with Clutch and several other Green Shirts trailing behind them.

Reed easily kept pace with the sprinting Ranger, a fact that caught Beach Head's eagle eye. He was quite surprised at her endurance - which nearly matched his own - and made a mental note to keep tabs on her running ability. So far, she had shown no signs of fatigue, despite having to charge about the facility in full combat gear.

"C'mon, you pansies!" Beach Head barked at the Green Shirts and trailing Joes, "Let's move it!"

"Hey, Beach Head, we're not your PT victims. We're movin'!" Clutch shouted at the Ranger.

"_Pssh_! Ah know you, Clutch. If ah was a hot piece o' tail and you were after my number you'd be up here runnin' circles around me," Beach Head growled.

"I ain't hot by no man's ideals, but if tellin' him I'm a girl will get him movin', have at it!" Reed quipped from her place beside the Sergeant Major.

"That's a girl!" Clutch eyed the lean form that was effortlessly keeping pace with the burly Ranger. Now that Reed mentioned it, the backside of the young Green Shirt was distinctly female in shape, even with the slightly baggy BDU pants she wore…

"May I kick him later, Sergeant Major?" Reed snorted.

"Hey, it worked," Beach Head said, a smile forming under his balaclava. Rounding a corner, the Ranger raised a hand to halt the rest of the patrol. Carefully gripping the doorknob to General Tomahawk's office, he counted to zero in his head, checking over his shoulder to make sure someone had a ready weapon; Reed was ready and waiting, a throwing knife in one hand, and her firearm in the other. Then he charged inside, while the "tail end Charlies" struggled to catch up.

"Alright, you made your poi…WOAH!" Clutch trailed off, staring in shock at the destroyed ceiling tiles as he and the others entered the General's office. "What happened here?"

"What's the SIT-REP, Flint?" Beach Head asked calmly of a dark-haired man in a beret standing in the room, as he shook his head in disbelief. Reed found Flint's face vaguely familiar before remembering him from when the Green Shirts were introduced to the veteran Joes.

"I don't know how he got here, but Snake-Eyes showed up for Storm-Shadow's little party." Flint reported grimly. "This base has so many corridors and secret rooms that we're sitting on our thumbs until Mainframe gets a lock on him. I just hope he can hold Storm-Shadow off 'til then."

"Mainframe?" Flint said into his wrist-com. "We can't catch Storm-Shadow if we're using canes and walkers. I need a location before…"

_"Everyone!"_ Mainframe's voice suddenly came over the com units. _"We've got a lock! They're in the tech lab, Sector Five. Looks like the ceiling finally gave out. I have a visual on Snake's com screen and it looks like Storm-Shadow's still in the rafters. Be careful." _

"On it!" Flint took off, leading the others out of the room save the ninja. " Kamakura, you know what to do."

"Yes, sir." The Ninja apprentice replied, eyeing the damage, mentally calculating how much effort it'd take to get up into the broken ceiling tiles.

Flint was in the lead, charging down the corridor towards the tech lab. "They're just through that…"

"Take cover!" Stalker shouted, when the door ahead suddenly blew outward towards them due to a sudden explosion. The Joes and Green Shirts ducked for cover, narrowly avoiding being harmed by flying debris. When it cleared, they leapt back into the corridor, weapons held at the ready.

"Storm-Shadow, stop!" Flint bellowed at the ninja running through the smoke towards them, Snake-Eyes in hot pursuit, "There's nowhere to run!"

To their collective shock, Storm-Shadow suddenly launched himself into the air, twisting his body in mid-air over their heads and landing behind them, running down the corridor. Snake-Eyes followed suit. The other Joes' eyes and heads swiveled around quickly to follow the direction the ninja used in the direction the two ninjas had taken off in.

"Uhm…" Stalker was speechless, as were several of the other men.

"Well fuck," Reed's sudden vulgarity seemed to sum up how they all felt.

"Move! Move! Move!" Flint roared, spinning around to continue the pursuit, Stalker in the lead now. "Mainframe! I need that hallway sealed off! Don't lose them!"

_"Targets are proceeding to Sector Four. At least that's away from Hawk's corridor."_ Mainframe reported. _"Looks like Storm-Shadow's priority now is himself."_

Ahead of them Snake-Eyes tackled Storm-Shadow before the Cobra ninja kicked his counterpart away.

"Let's see if that visor of yours protects you from a flash bomb." Storm-Shadow sneered as he let one loose a few centimeters away from the man's metal visor, blinding him. Spinning around swiftly, he launched himself through the closing blast doors.

"He's getting through the door!" Flint shouted as Snake-Eyes shook his head to clear his vision, forcing himself to stand. Half-blinded, he attacked the doors after they slammed closed.

"Snake-Eyes! It's okay. Mainframe will open it back up." Beach Head told the commando.

_"Already on it!" _

"Good boy." Beach Head purred darkly, lifting his weapon. Reed swallowed hard, unsure of the thrill that unexpectedly shot through her when the Sergeant Major purred.

_"Looks like he's headed towards the Mess Hall. After that I'm in the dark…"_ Mainframe informed them as the blast doors slid open. _"…he's nowhere to be seen."_

"Not a problem," Flint reassured the tech as he led them through the opened door. It wasn't Mainframe's fault that there hadn't been enough time to fully wire up the base with surveillance equipment.

_"Up the stairs and to your left." _Mainframe guided them from his post, going by the blueprints available to him on his monitor.

"Alright, everyone! Spread and search." Flint barked. "Trash cans, cabinets, closets, tables! Look everywhere! No one leaves the fair until someone wins me a ninja!"

Reed looked around, her keen eyes not catching sight of the ninja. _Where was he?_ The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose – she had the feeling that she was being watched.

"I have this sneaky suspicion that we're being watched." Flint growled, unknowingly echoing Reed's instincts.

"You can watch me take this bad boy out." Beachhead snorted in disdain. "This ninja kung-fu crap is highly overrated."

"I'd like to see him kung-fu my foot outta his ass." Reed mumbled behind the burly Ranger, her weapon held at the ready as her pale eyes scanned their surroundings.

"The rafters!" Flint yelped the warning too late.

"What?" Beach Head snarled at the sudden movement behind him, freezing when he felt the razor sharp blade of Storm-Shadow's katana millimeters away from his throat, even through the thick, woolen knit fabric of his balaclava. The Ranger could hear the nervous gulp of a male Green Shirt who had been standing beside Reed, alerting him to the fact he wasn't the ninja's only hostage. The two hostages dropped their weapons, remaining calm. The scowl on Beach Head's face was evident, even with the balaclava he wore. The Sergeant Major could see the anger in Reed's pale eyes as she leveled her weapon at Storm-Shadow's head, the sights tracking as the Cobra ducked his head behind the Ranger's.

"No one moves! No one fires!" Storm-Shadow ordered coldly, eyeing the Joes and Green Shirts. "…and no one has to die. Release the elevator!"

"Mainframe…" Flint took a calming breath, trying to control his anger. "…open the elevator door."

"Don't worry about us! Do what you have to do!" The Green Shirt urged them.

"Silence!" Storm-Shadow snarled at the Green Shirt.

Reed kept her weapon level with Storm-Shadow's head, her eyes cold; the ninja found them eerily familiar but pushed it out of his mind to focus completely on the matter at hand. Shifting her weight, the female Green Shirt looked at Flint and Stalker from the corner of her eye, awaiting an indication from either of them to attack.

With a soft ding the elevator doors slid open. Storm-Shadow kept his eyes on the Joes before him, not seeing the figure waiting for him in the elevator. His Green Shirt hostage, however, did. A grin formed on the hostage's lips as the waiting man made a motion to remain quiet with one hand, his sword held at the ready in the other.

"Wise choice, Flint," Storm-Shadow said smugly.

"Nice to see you here," the Green Shirt grinned at the elevator's occupant.

"What?" Storm-Shadow began to turn to see what his hostage was talking about, his blades drooping slightly.

"Welcome to the party, Kamakura!" the Green Shirt cheered, as he turned his body slightly, giving the ninja apprentice a clear shot. Kamakura drove his foot into Storm-Shadow's shoulder.

"I came back for a rematch!" the apprentice snarled. "Anyone want to join!"

"Don't mind if ah do!" Beach Head growled, slamming his elbow into the Cobra ninja's head. "Keep the elevator open!"

Retaliating with an elbow to the Ranger's gut, and knocking the wind from him, Storm-Shadow moved swiftly, locking his ankles around Kamakura's throat, bringing a soft "_Gack_!" from him.

"_Hungh_!" Beach Head grunted, getting his wind back. He lifted his weapon, only for Kamakura to be thrown into him. "_Ugh_!"

"_Oof_!" Kamakura grunted as his body was slammed into Beach Head's.

"I'm afraid you're still of use to me, so until then…" Storm-Shadow grabbed the Green Shirt by the shoulder, throwing him into the elevator. "…stay in the elevator!"

Kamakura had rolled out of the elevator and was rising to his feet as the Green Shirt was forcibly thrown into the elevator. Behind him was Snake-Eyes and Reed charging into the fray. In unison Reed and Kamakura lunged. Storm-Shadow slammed a fierce high kick into Kamakura's head while shoving Reed head first into the elevator. The young female Green Shirt sprawled on the ground before Beach Head, her head spinning. She could hear Storm-Shadow's taunt of "Until next time, _Silent Master_!" followed by a strange metal cutting into metal sound.

The elevator doors closed with a cheerful _ding_. Pushing herself to her hands and knees, she lashed out with a back kick, striking the ninja in the back of the knee. He caught his weight, looking incredulously at the youngest recruit as she forced herself to her feet. Head swimming, she could hear the other Green Shirt and Beach Head getting to their feet as well. The battle wasn't well remembered, flying fists and feet along with the fear to use a firearm due to accidentally hurting a comrade. Soon all they knew was blackness, until…

…another soft _ding_ pervaded their consciousness along with Flint's soft, "Aww, man."

The male Green Shirt had been stripped to his undergarments and made a soft groan of pain as he stirred, lifting his head. Beach Head was sprawled atop Reed in a protective manner, shielding the petite female with his own bulk. Several Green Shirts took guard positions around the opened elevator, watching the activity out of the corner of their eye.

Flint's orders buzzed in Beach Head's ears as he lifted his head wearily. He could make out the small form under him and recalled shielding her with his own body. Behind him he could hear another Green Shirt was aiding the stripped down male. Pushing himself up, Beach Head held his ribs, pain shooting through him. Vaguely he could make out Shipwreck talking and Snake-Eyes walking further into the elevator.

A soft moan escaped Reed and he looked down at her, his vision slightly blurry; the recruit's helmet was gone and he had a memory flash of her using it as an impromptu weapon, hitting Storm-Shadow across the face with it before being taken down with a palm strike across her face.

"She's got a concussion." Beach Head grunted, his Southern drawl slurring together, an obvious sign of a head injury. "Took a couple blows to the head."

"Sounds like you've got one too, Sergeant Major. Lifeline will get a look at all of you." A Green Shirt told him reassuringly as he helped the burly Ranger to his feet.

"I'm fine," came Reed's somewhat garbled voice. Her pale eyes were open and unfocused as she tried to sit up.

"Stop bein' a stubborn little bitch and let Lifeline look at yer head. That's an order!" Beach Head growled at her.

"With all due respect, Sergeant Major; you first," Reed retorted.

The two bickering soldiers were hauled off to the Infirmary, much to the relief of those around them.

-

-

-

Several days passed after the attempt on the General's life and training continued. Many of the Green Shirts dreaded when P.T. came and already a small number had dropped out from the sheer intensity of the training. Reed's attitude was unchanged, constantly taking anything thrown her way and doing it without complaint. Even when they were 'off' hours, Reed was doing some form of P.T. preferably running or pushups.

One night, after all were sleeping, something unexpected happened.

Lying curled up on her bunk, alone in the female half of the barracks, Reed waited for all the noise to settle before drifting off to sleep herself, a left over habit from her childhood. Finally her eyes closed and she began to doze.

An hour passed and a shadowy figure made his move, moving stealthily from the men's half of the barracks into the female's half. Standing over Reed's sleeping form, he struck, only to be surprised when she was suddenly rolling out of the way before he could disable her knee cap.

"You're not the first one to try that," she said softly. Not wanting to wake anyone, she leaped silently across her bunk to attack the male Green Shirt. The soft sounds of fists and feet impacting with flesh echoed in the room. In short order, she was kicking the battered and bruised man out of the female half of the barracks, with a contemptuous sneer. "Out, weakling. If you can't make it, don't try knocking out your competition – leave!"

The commotion stirred the rest of the recruits in the barracks, along with Beach Head, who was lurking around the instructors' bedrooms at the end of the long and open common room. He was waiting when Reed tossed the offending Green Shirt onto the floor, smashing his face into the hard tile. It must have been one hell of a fight from the sounds they had heard and from the odds – the attacker was near in height and build to Beach Head himself. Silently the Ranger promised himself to get a look at the surveillance video later to observe Reed's fighting style.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Mister Snuggles again," Beach Head snarled. Assigning the ex-Delta Force Green Shirt the "unofficial codename" of Mister Snuggles was a calculated decision, since the man was highly competitive and also observed to be willing to hurt his own teammates to get ahead.

"Mister Snuggles, it looks like your teammates have had enough of you. Instructors!" the Sergeant Major bellowed, motioning to summon two of the Green Shirt platoon's "mother hens". "Take this piece of shit out of here, and show him where we put pieces of shit like him."

Reed made a snort of disgust, cracking her knuckles as she watched her would-be attacker being dragged off.

Beach Head pointed his finger at Reed, leveling it right between her eyes. "You should be catching yer Z's," he said. "Report to the administrative building one hour before chow to swear a statement and Article 132 charges against Mister Snuggles. He's going into the deepest shit hole I can find. Go back ta readin' the tea leaves under yer eyelids!"

"You got it, Sergeant Major," she said with a yawn, turning around and heading back into the female half of the barracks.

Mumbled remarks among the other trainees passed rumors that Beach Head was planning to take Mister Snuggles out and practice his tank driving skills on him - with the Green Shirt greasing the tracks of the Ranger's favorite Mauler. Then again, it wasn't like the man didn't deserve it - he had crossed the line with the idea of taking Reed out of play.

"Sleep, little babies!" Beach Head roared over his shoulder. "Lest ah infiltrate yer dreams and turn 'em into nightmares!"

The male recruits scattered, heading back for their bunks.

Later, in his own bedroom, Beach Head was looking over a particular file marked 'Reed'. He wanted to see if there was something else on the intended victim. SFC Grey, Reed's senior drill instructor, reported that Reed has been cold and emotionless during training and was always the last one to stop in PT despite being the first one to start almost an hour before the others to 'warm up'. Her records on the firing range were the best among her squad, almost never missing a shot. When she let loose with throwing knives, her true skill shined through, and her aim was unerringly accurate.

Beach Head found a cryptic entry into her summary records that mentioned Reed being involved in an Article 134 investigation. Although the entry was brief, it spoke of an altercation in barracks between Reed and another recruit, with serious facial injuries being inflicted. Reed had been reprimanded by the senior drill instructors for not bringing the matter before them, but no other action had been taken.

The Ranger frowned at the information he could glean from the report. Although it didn't significantly enlighten him, he gazed at the female half of the dormitory. His own observations during the preliminary in-processing, and his gut instincts gave him some insight into why Reed was so prepared to take Henderson on so effectively. '_She must sleep with one eye open, and be ready to move at a moment's notice_,' he thought.

Rolling his shoulders, he closed the file and prepared for some shut-eye. It was going to be a long day pounding some knowledge into the Green Shirts' heads.

-

-

-

Morning was a beautiful thing – unless you were a Green Shirt under Beach Head's training regimen. Then it was Hell on Earth, a torturous process feared and avoided – if one could – and for the unlucky saps who couldn't, then the smartest thing to do was keep their heads down and let any smart-mouthed idiot nearby take the brunt of the tyrant's wrath. Morning chow was a favorite respite from the constant abuse. It wasn't fancy, but it sure beat eating mud, courtesy the Ranger's size eleven combat boots being pressed against the back of someone's head during the first round of daily calisthenics.

"In all honesty, Beach Head…" Flash asked as he watched the Green Shirts eating their morning chow, standing beside the burly Ranger. "What do you think of them? Any of them going to make it? And what's this I heard from Law about some guy attacking the General's recruit Reed earlier?"

The mentioned Green Shirt recruit was sitting away from her male counterparts, eating in a swift, precise manner.

"Some will make it, and some won't," Beach Head replied, "each one according to his... or her... talents. As for the other thing, the incident concerning PFC Reed has been handled. There's no need to spread rumors. She really had little to do with the offense. However," Beach Head added with a chuckle, "Order and Junkyard have a new playmate in their K-9 run while Ah decide what to do with one of the washouts."

"Some of the guys are worried the attacker might have been a Cobra plant. Mainframe and the others are already hacking into his background files to check for inconsistencies." Flash murmured softly, not to alert any of the Green Shirts to the rumor.

"Flash," Beach Head warned softly. "You might be an original Joe 'round here... but forgive me for saying... Shut the fuck up _right now_. Ah told ya not ta screw around with rumors. They're bad for morale."

"I'm only giving you the heads up on what's flying around -- these kids will hear it sooner or later. I and the others are doing our best to keep things quiet, but you know how certain members of the team like to talk when they get drunk," Flash stated.

"Sounds like I need to shut down the E-Club again," Beach Head said.

"I'll bring the video camera," the Joe veteran promised as he grinned. Seeing Shipwreck getting his ass kicked by Beach Head was always priceless entertainment.

"Look," the Ranger continued. "Ah kin take care of my recruits. They're fixin' ta start the survival phase of the selection. Gettin' them out into my element will help. Ah've got mah own methods fer sniffin' out the enemy."

"Good. We don't want a repeat of what happened earlier. I swear the General's living up to his Tomahawk nickname."

"What does the General have to do with the incident?" Beach Head asked. "Ah had the bastard cooped up in the dog kennel."

"Don't ask me, he heard about what happened and he just got that look. You know, the one that could make Cobra Commander piss himself." Flash said, swallowing hard.

"I don't know much about PFC Reed's background, or why the General was so involved in her specific recruitment onto the team," Beach Head said. "I recommend we leave her out of as much as possible. And, by the way, Flash, I cornered the market on dirty looks that make Cobra Commander piss himself."

"So that's where he picked that one up from," Flash joked before clearing his throat. "I hope you don't have any trouble on the survival stage. God knows, that's what we don't need. Talk to you later, Beach Head. Have fun torturing your Green Shirts." Flash headed off for his own morning chow.

Beach Head simply replied to Flash with a nod of his head. He thought very carefully about Flash's suspicion about Cobra agents trying to infiltrate the Joes' recruiting process from other parts of the military. Despite quadruple-thick levels of OPSEC, and everything related to personnel handled in-house, there was still a risk.

Reed leaned back in her chair, her plate clean, looking around at the other recruits warily, wondering if any of them might get it in their heads to make a repeat of Mister Snuggles' sneak attack.

Beach Head looked over at the recruits that were still eating, as he considered another round of washouts before the first bivouac outing. He noticed Reed sitting by her empty food tray. "Hey! Cupie Doll! Front and Center!"

Reed blinked, wondering where he'd gotten the "Cupie Doll" name for her, before rising to do as ordered.

"Come on, troop," Beach Head growled under his breath. "I ain't got all day."

She presented herself front and center, eyeing him warily. '_Now what did he want?'_ She was cramping -- not like she was telling _him_ that -- and had been enjoying not moving. "Yes, Sergeant Major?"

"I think it's time to give you a new nickname," Beach Head said. "General Tomahawk and I are becoming partial to Mercury, actually. Mercury implies speed, since you seem to be running circles around yer colleagues over there."

"Mercury? I like that. Roman god, the messenger of the king of the gods because he was the fastest of them all, and the like. Speaking of code names -- just what the hell is a cupie doll anyway?" she asked, raising a brow at him.

"It was a little girl's toy, before plastic and Barbie dolls," Beach Head said. "Cupie is short for 'cutie pie'. They used ta give 'em out in carnivals fer playing the games of skill. Real easy to break. That's what you reminded me of, when this class started," the Ranger added.

"Ooohkay. I won't even ask why you'd know something about the dolls little girls play with..." her lips curved into a smirk.

"But that ain't the only business I need ta speak with you about," Beach Head said after a moment. "You're doing exceptionally well on the ranges. Ah wanna see how good you are at adapting to unfamiliar equipment. You have a one-on-one training session with Low Light on the sniper course while the others have basic weapons assembly practice. Ah know you've mastered assembling yer M-4 and M-16 in the dark. No matter what ah think, yer grades don't lie. You just might have a remote shot in Hell of joining _MY_ Joe team. Mind you, it's still a slim to none chance. Don't fuck it up, kid."

"I won't, old man." Every time he called her _kid_, she called him _old man_ -- seemed fair to her, even if it riled him.

Beach Head began to turn red, since he abhorred being called old. "Outta mah face, Scumbag," he blurted out a bit too loudly, drawing a few passing glances.

"See ya at the morning run, then again after my training session with Low Light," she said with a smirk, turning away from him to put up her empty food tray.

"Sheesh... women..." Beach Head mumbled, returning to his paperwork and lunch. He proceeded to sign off on the washout orders for a dozen rawhides from the class. The news would come from the assistant instructors right before the class's obligatory morning run.

Reed gritted her teeth as she went through the morning run, painful cramps lancing through her abdomen. No way was she gonna whine to the old man – no way was she going to give him a 'weakness' to deride in front of the others. The heavy pack she carried was ignored, the weight part of her own now. Even with the cramps and heavy pack, she was ahead of the others. The miles seemed to fly by and they were soon back at barracks. Heading for the women's shower, Reed looked forward to the hot shower waiting for her, hoping it would help with her cramps. Dragging herself from the shower's heat, she dried off and dressed in a fresh set of BDUs, heading off to meet Low Light.


	4. The Name's Mercury

**A JOE CALLED "_MERCURY_"**_  
_**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own G.I. Joe, which makes me want to cry, because if I did, I'd own Beach Head, Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Duke, Hawk, and a ton of cute guys...  
**AUTHOR:** Zpan Sven  
**E-MAIL:** Zpan(underscore)Sven(at)hotmail(dot)com  
**AUTHOR'S NOTES** I do own Mercury (Private Patricia Elizabeth Reed), Chaplain (Sophia Deheune), COBRA Televiper Fredrick "Freddy" Michealson (Codenamed Virus), Fredericka "Rikki" Michealson, COBRA ninja viper Eric Leum (Codenamed Black Mamba) and COBRA Viper Jonathan Helmsley, Jamieson "Jamie" Helmsley, Xanatos, and Ryoko. Takes place during issues 10 through 13. Many thanks and worship goes to the wonderful Wolfman for helping me!

**STORY SUMMARY:** At the USAF Olympics, Hawk catches sight of a potential Joe days before the reemergence of Cobra. After Cobra resurfaces, he recruits the young Private. Just how will this Private aid in the battle against the forces of Cobra and what is the secret that resides in the Private's past that Hawk knows?  
**CHAPTER SUMMARY:** After completing her stint in the Green Shirts and making an enemy of the imposing Ranger Beach Head, Reed officially is given the codename of Mercury and introduced to her new comrades – the veteran Joes.  
**WARNINGS:** Violence, language  
**RATING:** PG  
**GENRE:** Action & Adventure/Romance/General  
**ARCHIVE:** ask, and ye will more than likely receive!

-

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE NAME'S "_MERCURY_" **

/ -- Flashback sequence

-

_Location: Wright Patterson Air Force Base, _ _Fairborn_ _Ohio_

_Time: 0330 _

-

-

"Ooof!" Daemon's chin hit the ground hard as he stumbled over his own feet as he attempted to complete a lap around the track.

"Daemon and Firewall, huh? Shish!" Beach Head snorted in derision, his hands on his hips as he glowered at the two young Joes as they gasped and wheezed for breath in their impromptu break. "You're pathetic. **Pathetic**! The only reason you're here is because you spent too much time playin' on the Internet growin' up instead of _outside_, and learned somethin' Uncle Sam needed when Cobra caught him with his pants down! And what kind of codenames are those, anyway?"

"Handles," Firewall gasped for much needed oxygen.

"What did you say?" Beach Head demanded.

"Mailerdaemon76 and Firewall3K were our handles we used as hackers. We just adopted them for the team," Daemon explained from his place sprawled at the burly Ranger's feet.

"I don't understand – why do we have to do this!" Firewall demanded between pants for breath. "Why do you have to yell so much? Why's a hacker need to run laps?"

"Wh…why? Oh no you didn't!" Beach Head growled as he stepped over Daemon, who rested his weight on his elbow, looking at his fellow hacker who was resembling a deer in the headlights of an on coming car.

"Nice one, Firewall," Daemon let out a wheezing laugh.

"**Because**, keyboard jockey…" Beach Head snarled out, his face suddenly inches away from Firewall's own; she recoiled away from the sudden movement and the strong scent of body odor from Beach Head crossing the small air space between them. The pungent sensation in her nose spoke volumes about the senior drill instructor's grooming habits – or lack there of. "…whether **_Ah_** like it or not, you're a member of and elite task force now, and if -- the Lord Almighty forbid – you were ever on the field in a combat situation, your teammates lives might **depend** on you bein' able to **run** more than **five feet** before **running out of breath**! Because there's more to bein' a Joe than playin' **video games**! **_Understood_**!"

"Y-yes, sir," Firewall stammered as he straightened up, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

"Now there's two people who get it. Pssh!" Beach Head snorted and nodded his head in the direction of a dark-haired male with an eye-patch covering one eye garbed in the standard workout sweats of the Joes and Green Shirt working on the uneven parallel bars and a young blond Green Shirt was running laps with ease in full gear and a pack that looked heavier then him. "Take a look at William and Reed, boys and girls. There's a pair of role models fer the two of ya to emulate."

The dark-haired man swung around and the two hackers could see he only had one leg; the other had been amputated to above the knee and fitted with a sleek prosthetic limb. Releasing the lower of the two bars, he flipped over a shallow pool of water surrounded by sand bags, landing easily on his feet. He caught sight of them and nodded respectfully to the towering Ranger. "How was that, Beach Head?"

"Nice, William, nice." Beach Head replied.

"He doesn't even have both legs." Firewall whispered in shock to an equally awed Daemon.

"Firewall, you got any questions about runnin'? Try askin' Reed her secret – she's a gold medalist in Track and Field." Beach Head said with an obvious smirk behind his balaclava as he pointed to where the Green Shirt was jumping over a particularly high hurdle easily regardless of the heavy pack on her back. When Beach Head saw that both were properly 'shocked and awed' he pointed back to the track, "Dig yerselves up some inspiration and give me another **mile**! **NOW**!"

-

-

-

_Later that day… _

Flint hummed softly to himself as he gathered up the papers on PFC Reed and placed them in their corresponding file folder. He paused to look at the picture of himself and Lady Jaye in its plain wood frame from its place of honor on his desk before he stood and exited his office. He had to admit, this Private Reed was just as General Hawk had promised - well trained enough to follow orders and fully versed in tradition and regulations, but also young enough to bring in new ideas and to quickly adapt to any type of situation. Hell, she used her helmet to hit Storm-Shadow while trapped in the elevator when she was afraid of a friendly-fire incident.

"Yo, Flint!" Came a familiar masculine voice, snapping the WO from his reminiscing.

"Yo, Duke!" He replied, a grin lighting his features. "How are the recruits coming along?"

"So far, so good - 'course its still early in the training regiment and these G.I.s are said to be the best of the best, so until we bring out the big guns will we see who have true Joe potential." The blond man replied.

"How is Hawk's recruit Reed doing?"

"She's doing great, especially in P.T. – has a real hate-on for Beach Head, and it's returned big time." Duke told him with a smirk.

"Still?"

"It's got to be the biggest feud I've ever seen." Duke shook his head, thinking of some of the hell Beach Head was putting the young Green Shirt through.

-

_"C'mon, you maggots!" Beach Head bellowed, Duke standing beside him and shaking his head in amusement. _

_The Green Shirts were crawling under razor-sharp barbed-wire through thick, cold mud. There were faint mumbles and complaints drowned out by the burly Ranger's shouting, Duke noticed, able to see their mouths moving and the occasional spitting out of mud. Ahead of the others and probably with a heavier pack than the rest, was the lean, petite form of Beach Head's favorite target, the General's personal recruit: PFC Reed. She clawed her way through the mud silently, her face determined and cold. _

_"Kiss that chocolate, my little babies!" Beach Head chided, using his boot to push the cleanest Green Shirt's face squarely into the mud. "Don't it taste soo good?" _

_Reed smirked slightly as the loudest whiner of the group got his face shoved in the mud. Maybe the Ranger wasn't too bad...maybe when pigs flew around on little white wings that magically sprouted out of their backs. _

_"Mmm, yeah!" the Green Shirts shouted. "Give us more, Drill Sergeant! Give us more!" _

_The youngest recruit's eyes were calculating the distance between the wire, herself, and how much longer she had until getting to the next part of the course. One thing she had to grudgingly respect was the course was never the same thing each time out. It changed all the time, the more 'portable' aspects being shifted around in an unpredictable manner. _

_Beach Head stomped along the edge of the wire crawl obstacle, continuing to egg the recruits along. "Come on, troopers! Assholes and elbows! It should take you slumps no more than thirty seconds to negotiate my wires! Any of you turds take longer... and the whole platoon runs again!" _

_With a satisfied grunt, Reed crawled out of the wires, eyeing the burly Ranger. He'd make 'em do it too. He had several times before. Spitting a bit of mud, she watched her fellow Greenshirts crawling out of the wires before looking over her shoulder to see what was next for them to tackle. Oh. A free-fire zone. Probably with live ammo, knowing Beach Head. It's quite simple, really... All a person had to do is get from the starting point to the finish point… all the while watching out for surprises. Stretching out her kinks, Reed gave an unholy grin. This'd be fun. _

_Hidden in perches high over the obstacle course, Roadblock, Rock & Roll, Hardball and Repeater watched the Green Shirts stumble out of the wire obstacle and run blindly away from Beach Head's shouting. Each man locked and cocked their M-214 multi-barrel machineguns, preparing to have a little fun. They enjoyed making the Green Shirts dance. Reed's petite form was easy to make out as she made her way into the free-fire zone, adrenaline racing through her. _

_The Joes manning the high ground peppered the recruits, never firing too close to be a danger. Many of the soldiers, not expecting a huge volume of fire, or to see hundreds of tiny cascades of real dirt being kicked up by the real bullets, still panicked. _

_"Move, move!" Reed bellowed, charging through the dirt that had been kicked up. "Keep yer heads, boys! Both of 'em!" _

_No one else paid much attention to Reed, since the Joes manning the machine guns had bottled the entire platoon up in a ring of gunfire, forcing them to cower in a cluster of quivering bodies. _

_"Cease Fire!" Beach Head yelled, silencing the gun positions. _

_Gritting her teeth and her ears ringing, Reed had to fight the urge to kick a couple guys in the ass for grabbing onto her. What was she, their mother? Big babies... _

_"Look at you," the DI said with disdain dripping from his words. "You meager scumbuckets... What the fuck kind of soldiers are you, anyway? You all just fold and turn in crying babies who want their momma as soon as the real shit starts flying? Look over there!" Beach Head pointed to Reed, who had progressed quite some distance before she paused at the silencing of the weapons fire, audible even over the ringing of her ears. _

_"First off, you're all as good as dead for not getting your whiney asses out of the line of fire," he added. "They had you pinned down and would've cleaned your clocks in short order... _

_Ahh there went the damned ringing in her ears. Now to find out who it was that had grabbed her, then kick his ass. Ass kicking was good... _

_"Then, there's the issue of leaving a fellow Joe behind. We don't leave a fellow Joe to fight a battle alone. NEVER. You cowards let Private Reed go swinging-dick into the enemy's lair without support! She's as good as dead too! Get your asses back to barracks," Beach Head said. "Ah am so disappointed in you today that I have to go to the mess and decide whether to wash the entire platoon out of the Joes over a cup of lifer's juice. I can't bear to even look at most of you. Get the fuck outta my sight." _

_Shifting her pack, Reed headed for the barracks, thinking about getting a hot shower. _

_Beach Head stopped when he saw Reed trudging by. "Good job on the O-Course, trooper," he whispered. "Ah have a feeling that you might actually make it onto my Joe Team, if you don't fuck it up like these other losers." _

_She paused and looked up at him. "One of 'em grabbed me in the run. Thought it was a 'help me momma!' type grab at first, but the hand lingered too long, so if you hear an ass-kickin', that's why." _

_"Do what you gotta, kid," Beach Head said. "Just keep the blood off my nice, clean barracks tiles, okay?" _

_"I'll make sure it's mopped up if it's spilled," she smirked and sauntered off. _

-

"Now there they sound like their getting along!" Flint said when Duke finished reminiscing, a bit surprised.

"It didn't last. They had a particularly good run and Beach Head was actually pleased…" Duke snorted with laughter.

-

-

_"Not bad, Maggots," Beach Head gave one of the Green Shirts a congratulatory whap on the rear and was suddenly staggering from the high kick delivered by Reed when it connected with his chest. _

_"Pervert!" She growled at Ranger, her eyes bright and angry in her mud stained face as she rubbed away the sting to her poor buttock. That hurt damnit! Fuming, the petite female began to stalk to the barracks. _

-

-

Flint was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his tanned cheeks. Duke was doubled over with laughter as well.

"Oh man, poor Beach Head!" Flint choked out around his laughter.

"It was an honest mistake, I'll give him that - Mercury does look like a boy with her hair that short and her face covered in dirt. Add in the Green Shirts' uniform she had on and she was just one of the boys!" The blond said as he wiped his own tears of mirth away.

The two friends then walked into the Mess Hall, still laughing and joking with one another.

-

-

-

P.T. was harder then it had been in a long time and had started earlier. Reed wondered what was going on – those that given up were told they had washed out of the running and were dragged off. Her biceps burned from the strain of the three hundred and forty-nine pull-ups she had just done and the almost four hundred push ups she had done almost half an hour earlier. Reed's legs burned slightly from the several hundred miles she had run in the past three days, but she stubbornly keep her lips firmly clamped shut.

"Three-hundred fifty." She and the others still in the program croaked in unison. From the ground, several drop outs groaned in agony. _'Dear God, if Beach Head doesn't let us stop soon, I'm going to fall from my forearms going numb._' She thought as she lowered her body and prepared to do another pull up.

"Enough!" Beach Head bellowed and she and the other trainees groaned in relief. "Take a thirty-second break and haul ass to the Mess Hall!"

-

-

-

Several hours of training had passed. Her combat-boot clad feet dug into the SandPit and in her hands she firmly clasped a Pugil Stick. She was lowered into a defensive stance and she glared daggers at the macho pigs about to gang up on her and tensed her leg muscles. Damnit, she was hurting, tired, hungry, and on her menstrual cycle - oh hell yeah, these assholes were dead!

They charged in unison, as though by an unspoken command. On sheer reflex did she duck, bob, and weave around the blows intended to take her out and retaliate with swift hits to abdomens, groins, and knees. The sound of the padded Pugil stick striking the flesh of her opponents was music to her ears.

Groans of agony came from the fallen men and she brought up the Pugil stick to block a strike from another male trainee. She swiftly twisted the Pugil stick and hit her attacker right in the lower abdomen. The sound of men behind her cursing as they fought caused her to duck out of reflex, allowing one of the other trainees to go flying into another of her attackers. With a feral smile on her lips, she turned to face the last man standing. On an unspoken command, they charged at each other.

The Pugil sticks collided with one another and their muscles bulged and strained as the last two trainees strove to dominate the other. Her boots dug into the sand as she was being forced backwards, his physical strength threatening to overwhelm her. Reed's face lit up with an unholy grin as inspiration struck her.

"Yer fly's open." She grunted while trying to push against him, her biceps and the muscles of her back screaming.

"I'ma not fallin' fer that one!" he growled.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything, but do you always go commando?" She asked blithely and was pleased to see her gamble pay off when his mouth dropped open and his eyes widen. He tilted his head downward to check his fly.

That was when she struck.

As his muscles slackened, the Pugil stick in her hands twisted and turned. One padded end slammed into her opponent's jaw, sending him reeling. She followed that up with blow to his gut, which sent him to the ground. Standing there, wheezing and panting for breath and sweat matting her hair to her head and stinging her eyes, she found that her knees were on the verge of buckling.

"And our champion is: Mercury!" Beach Head bellowed. "C'mon, brat, yer car's waitin' to take you back to the barracks and mess hall."

"Car?" The Private asked in relief. "No more running? I love running, but I think my knees are going to buckle..."

Beach Head reached out and hauled the staggering Private out of the SandPit. "Cover Girl here will take you straight to dinner - unless you want to freshen up before hand, of course."

"Food?" She perked up at that, her stomach rumbling in agreement of the idea of ingesting a real meal. "Real, honest to God, food?"

"Yes, real food."

"Thank you, sir, I think I love you!" Reed said with a wheezing laugh.

The balaclava-wearing man blushed under his mask as he helped her to the front passenger side seat, where she gratefully collapsed. Beside her was a beautiful auburn haired woman who made her self-conscious of the fact that she probably stunk to high heaven and was covered in sweat and grim. The woman gave her a friendly, sympathetic look.

"You poor kid, you look exhausted!" she exclaimed. "Don't worry though, once we get some decent food inside you, you can sleep for as long as you like."

"Do you think it'd be possible for me to get a shower or bath first? I don't think I've ever been this filthy before and I probably reek." Reed softly whimpered. "And I think I'm about to bleed onto this nice leather seat."

"You were hurt and didn't say anything?" the older woman asked in surprise.

"No - just on that time of the month."

"Time of the...? You mean you're a girl!" Cover Girl yelped, her eyes wide. The person beside her had short hair of an unknown color matted to his - er, _her_ - scalp and neck with a set of baggy BDU's that were filthy and torn, and grime was over every bit of exposed skin. The only feature truly visible was her eyes, which were an unusual shade of pale bluish-gray.

"I look that bad?" She asked dryly.

"One shower, coming up." Cover Girl replied. "What's your name, kid?"

"PFC Reed." Was the prompt reply and she tugged on her shirt, squinting down at the word covered in grime sleepily. "According to my shirt, though, I'm 'Mercury'."

"Well, welcome to the Joes, Mercury." The older woman said and her only response was a soft snore.

The older woman chuckled and in minutes of silence only punctured by the new Joe's soft snores, pulled up before the barracks. She pulled out her cell-phone and tapped a couple buttons.

"Hi, Jaye, it's me. Do you think it'd be possible for you and Scarlett to help me with the new kid? She passed out on the ride to the Mess Hall so I brought her by the barracks instead so she can freshen up before getting some real food inside her." She paused to listen to the other female Joes confer with one another and grinned at the answer. "Jinx wants to help too? That's great! You might want to hurry though; I don't want her bleeding all over my leather seats." She had to hold the cell-phone away from her ear at the sudden shouting. "No, Jaye, she's not hurt, just on her period."

After a brief conversation with Lady Jaye, Cover Girl pressed the 'end' button on her cell-phone. She looked over at where the youngest Joe was slumped against the seatbelt and passenger side door. She had to keep from laughing at the sight of a couple drops of drool trailing down from the side of the kid's mouth. Five minutes after she had called them, Lady Jaye, Scarlett, and Jinx arrived

"Mercury," Cover Girl said softly, gently shaking the younger Joe's shoulder.

The younger woman suddenly straightened up, her pale eyes darting around to take in her location. She sheepishly scratched the back of her neck.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep like that..." Mercury informed her, embarrassed.

"Its completely alright, kid, you have every right to be exhausted." The older woman told her reassuringly.

Mercury grinned wanly at her and looked startled when an oriental woman offered her a hand out of the car. After undoing he safety belt, she took the woman's hand, mumbling an apology about how dirty she was. The older woman laughed and helped her out of the car.

-

-

-

_Location: The Mess Hall _

"Where's the new guy?" Ship Wreck grumbled impatiently. "And why'd the gals run off like they did?"

Snake Eyes looked up from his book in irritation. If the sailor didn't stop whining, he'd have to hurt him...or do something to embarrass him, whichever one came first. The ninja smirked wickedly behind his mask as he planned on things to do to his comrade, each more humiliating than the last.

The Mess Hall doors opened to admit Lady Jaye, Scarlett, and Jinx. Jaye grinned at the assembled Joes, "Gentlemen - and I use that term very loosely - I give you our newest sibling in arms: Mercury!"

The women stepped aside to reveal a thin, lean silhouette. The newbie was short, only around five foot five inches, but Ship Wreck and several of the other Joes reminded themselves that this as still a wet behind the ears Private who probably wasn't done growing. The figure stepped fully into the Mess Hall and many jaws dropped. Mercury wasn't a he, but a _she_. The very she who had gotten into the scuffle with Beach Head!

Without the Green Shirt's uniform, they got a better look at her. Her blonde hair was shorn close to her scalp, and her face was tomboyish, making them almost think they were looking at a 'pretty boy'. However, the fact that the figure's shirt was hugging a set of small breasts announced that this was a young woman. Her eyes were a piecing blue-grey, which almost matched her faded blue jeans; to some they were eerily familiar, but that familiarity was dismissed. Those pale eyes swept over them before looking at Hawk, and then the food laid out. Hawk had to keep from laughing as he stepped forward.

"I'm certain you're starving, Mercury," Hawk said, gaining everyone's attention, "So I'll keep this short - welcome to the Joes, kid."

"Glad to be here. Can I eat now?"

"Of course," the General chuckled, gesturing over to where Roadblock waited with the piles of delicious smelling food.

"Hello, kid," Roadblock grinned, remembering when Beach Head had sent her to help him in the kitchen. Kid was good, fast and efficient at peeling potatoes and chopping up vegetables. Clean little thing too, making certain to follow the sanitary rules to a tee -- almost fanatical about it, according to some of the other Green Shirt helpers.

"Sir," she nodded and was swift in pointing out the food she wanted, watching as he piled on generous servings on her plate. "Thank you." She said gratefully.

"Enjoy, and don't make yourself sick." The large chef told her, chuckling at her distracted grunt.

Sitting down at a barely occupied table, she began to chow down, much to the amusement of Lowlight. The sniper recognized a kindred spirit in her, something he'd seen when she'd come to the sniper course for one-on-one. Of course he'd also recognized that she was on her rag – the girls always shot the targets in the groins when he let them have their fun. At the time he'd silently grumbled that Beach Head always sent him the girls when they were raggin' and easy to irritate. But then he'd been impressed. She was damn good, her accuracy very high for someone at the sniper course their first time.

The teenaged Joe all but inhaled her food, clearing plate after plate full of food; several of the veteran Joes that had been watching were chuckling to themselves certain she'd make herself sick soon. Roadblock smirked as she stopped a plate before he'd thought. Some of the Vets grumbled and he knew that money was exchanging hands, Ace and Shipwreck always eager to start a betting pool over anything that caught their fancy.

Leaning back in her chair, Reed picked at food stuck between her teeth with a toothpick, her flat abdomen bulging enough to where she had to undo the button of her jeans. "That was great." She burped out. "Tad bit heavy on the garlic in the lasagna though – but still, it was great."

-

-

-

_Time: 1948 hours _

Stupid initiation rituals. Mercury stayed in the shadows outside the men's showers, adjusting the digital camcorder in her black gloved hands. She'd ghosted into the showers when it was unoccupied and put a pink dye pack inside one of the shower heads before ghosting back out. Now she had to wait and see who she got, if she got anyone at all.

The youngest Joe jerked up straight when she heard a familiar enraged bellow.

Oh. Shit.

No way.

She got Beach Head!

The door to the men's showers jerked open and there stood Beach Head, naked save a towel hastily put around his waist; he was a bright neon pink from head to toe and everywhere in between. Even in his rage, his keen eyes saw Mercury gaping at him in surprise, the camcorder in her hands focused on him.

"Ahahahaha..." she gulped, "Hi?" Mercury giggled out nervously. Ohhh she was **so** dead...

From Beach Head's throat came a low, inhuman sounding growl as he suddenly lunged for her. With a squeak, she dodged to the side and her feet took over. Mercury ran as fast as she could, trying to ignore the fact the enraged Ranger was hot on her heels, shouting threats at the top of his lungs. As he got madder, she noted his Alabama drawl got thicker, so thankfully she couldn't understand what he was threatening to do to her. Hoping to tire him out, she led him on a merry chase all around the base. Literally **_all_** around the base.

In the Mess Hall, Shipwreck and several of the other 'Betting Pool Masters' were figuring the odds of what Mercury would do. They had deliberately been vague, but they were hoping she had the initiative to do something original. The doors to the Mess Hall suddenly slammed open and Mercury ran into the room, clutching the digital camcorder they had given her, her face paler than normal as she ran from the most unbelievable of sights: Beach Head, bright neon pink and clad only in a towel, yelling out mostly undecipherable threats. Cross-Country, however, spit out his sweet iced tea at whatever the Ranger was threatening the newest Joe with, watching in shock with the other Joes as Mercury vaulted over Shipwreck's table, dropping the camcorder in the surprised sailor's lap with a desperate scream of, "Save the evidence!"

Beach Head was right behind her, his jaw set in determination to capture the fleeing female. The Ranger managed to pounce on Mercury when she tripped over a wayward chair. The young Joe started screaming bloody murder as, to the other Joes combined shock, Beach Head righted the overturned chair, sat in it, and dragged the fighting female face down over his lap. Holding her firmly by the back of her jeans' waistband with one hand to keep her from wiggling free, he raised his other hand and delivered a harsh slap onto her denim covered buttocks; a loud, outraged scream escaped Mercury and her struggles to escape doubled.

Mercury managed to wiggle to where she was halfway off of his lap, one hand braced on his shin as she tried to push herself free of his grip; the Ranger ignored her struggles and continued with his 'discipline'. Gritting her teeth, she began kicking to get free, her eyes focusing unknowingly on the shadows of the towel concealing his lap. Something moved. Baffled, she froze, blinking. Beach Head took notice of Mercury's baffled stare, visible only to him and shoved her onto the floor. Rising, he paced, cursing her up one side and down the other before vowing to find the person who was behind the initiation challenge. With as much dignity he had left, the Ranger began to stalk from the room.

"Dish washer detergent," Mercury mumbled, audible to him only.

Beach Head's eyes narrowed, the only sign he had heard her tell him how to remove the dye before exiting the Mess Hall.


	5. Interlude: History Repeating

**A JOE CALLED "**_**MERCURY**_**"**_  
_**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own G.I. Joe, which makes me want to cry, because if I did, I'd own Beachhead, Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Duke, Hawk, and a ton of cute guys...  
**AUTHOR:** Zpan Sven  
**E-MAIL:** NOTES: I do own Mercury (Private Patricia Elizabeth Reed), Chaplain (Sophia Deheune), COBRA Televiper Fredrick "Freddy" Michealson (Codenamed Virus), Fredericka "Rikki" Michealson, COBRA ninja viper Eric Leum (Codenamed Black Mamba) and COBRA SAW-Viper Jonathan Helmsley (Codenamed Sidewinder), Jamieson "Jamie" Helmsley, Xanatos, and Ryoko. Takes place between _**A Joe Called "Mercury"**_: Chapters Four and Five, and during **GI JOE:** **FRONTLINE** issues Eleven and Twelve. Many thanks and worship goes to the wonderful Wolfman-sama for helping me!

**STORY SUMMARY:** At the USAF Olympics, Hawk catches sight of a potential Joe days before the reemergence of Cobra. After Cobra resurfaces, he recruits the young Private. Just how will this Private aid in the battle against the forces of Cobra and what is the secret that resides in the Private's past that Hawk knows?  
**CHAPTER SUMMARY:** Mercury's on her first big, top secret mission when she's assigned with Beachhead, Airtight, Tripwire, and Flash to prevent the spread of the 'Death Angel' virus that had been captured by Tyler Wingfield, who is seeking to sell it to Cobra.   
**WARNINGS:** Language, Violence, Mild Sexual Situations  
**RATING:** PG-13  
**GENRE:** Action & Adventure/Romance/General  
**ARCHIVE:** ask, and ye will more than likely receive!  
-

**INTERLUDE ONE: HISTORY REPEATING**

_**Wright-Patterson Air Force Base**_

_**1100 Hours**_

-

"Man, look at some of these names!" Snickered one soldier, "I mean, Reed's reasonable, but the other four! Gambello? Schnurr? Skoog? Sneeden?? Are these guys for real?"

"They're very real and happen to be standing behind two of the sorriest looking assholes they've ever seen," snarled an angry, harsh voice laced with the drawl of Alabama that snapped out a brisk: "_TEN_-**HUT**!"

The nervous pair of soldiers stood at attention, sweating heavily as the voice continued the chastising, "Bad enough we had to come back here while we wait for a new home. Now why don't you run down that list again, you sorry son of a—"

"Yes, sir. Very sorry, sir!" One gulped nervously.

"I think they might be more comfortable with our proper names…" a more soothing, but highly amused, male voice said. Behind them, a calm Airtight had a hand on Beachhead's chest, restraining the towering Ranger as the two soldiers turned to face four tall male soldiers. "Mister Sunshine there is called Beachhead…"

The balaclava wearing Joe that the garishly clad man gestured to glowered at them evilly, his dark eyes promising pain in their futures.

"This is Flash…" the man now gestured to a man clad in green and padded crimson protective gear, the overhead lights gleaming off his visor and green helmet.

"That's Tripwire…" This man was garbed similarly to the Green Shirts, only with much heavier blast gear over his clothing and a dark visor in place of goggles.

"Little _**Missus**_ Sunshine over there is Mercury…" Now they saw the other Joe, the shortest and scrawniest of the bunch. If the man hadn't called her '_missus_' they could have assumed she was a young, undernourished male buck private due to the tight, form smothering black gear she was garbed in; a matching black cap was neatly tucked under her right arm. Her nearly platinum blonde hair was cropped close to her scalp, spiking up slightly, her pale eyes glowering at them with the same intensity and disgust as Beachhead and her skin was an almost unhealthy shade of white, the stark contrast between her uniform and skin draining her of color.

"And I'm Airtight." The man in the garish environmental suit held out his gloved hand to the soldiers, "Pleased to meet you."

There came an audible snap after one soldier gathered his wits and took Airtight's gloved hand. The hazardous environment specialist let out a scream as his hand broke off at the wrist. Both soldiers stared aghast. "Oh-my-God-Oh-my-God-Oh-my-God...!!"

"It's OK, I brought a spare," Airtight snickered after he stopped screaming, adjusting the wrist of his gauntlet, his real hand sliding out.

Flash and Tripwire cracked up, laughing at the prankster while Beachhead rolled his eyes in irritation. Mercury tapped her foot, glaring at the childish antics of her male comrades, impatient to get the mission briefing underway.

"Could we get a move on here, people?!" An annoyed Beachhead snapped, shoving the three pranksters into the briefing room.

"Thank you," Mercury sighed, strolling in after them, shaking her head in disgust of her comrade's juvenile antics; really, how old were they?! Hard to believe **she** was the youngest of the team with their behavior...

She stopped and stared at what waited inside, the doors sliding closed behind her. There were only four chairs around the briefing table -- and five of Joes on the mission. The youngest Joe sighed and was prepared to stand during the mission briefing, seeing the males of the group had sat down without thinking. Airtight took notice of her situation and grinned behind his breather. Good chance to flirt with the new girl!

"Hey, Mercury, you can always sit here on my lap!" he called over to the petite blonde teasingly.

Mercury scowled at him, while Beachhead twitched in annoyance and glared at Airtight. The Ranger prepared to stand so that she could have his chair when Mercury's devilish side decided to have some fun with Airtight's 'pea-brain'.

"No thanks, I'll just sit here." She replied snidely, sitting on Beachhead's lap. The balaclava wearing Ranger froze suddenly, his fingers gripping the armrests of his chair tightly when her buttocks touched his muscular thighs, unused to the sudden contact and proximity of the younger Joe.

"Brat, _what_ do you think yer **doin'**?" The Ranger growled in her ear.

"Teaching Airtight a lesson," Mercury replied smugly, leaning back in her 'chair', her back against Beachhead's chest. "So just _chill_, old man. Temporary truce until the mission's over, okay?"

"Fine," Beachhead shifted slightly in his seat, uncomfortable by her sudden, unexpected closeness. It was disconcerting to be so close to his young nemesis…it was one thing to be in her face and berating her or running her through his PT regime, but this…was different, and he didn't know why. And he didn't like not knowing why it was different, not with his need to be in complete and total control...

"Congratulations, you just passed," Duke's voice said drolly as he entered the room.

"Passed? Who passed what?" Mercury asked as she blinked at the Top Shirt in confusion, a rare expression on the young woman's normally stoic face.

"_You_ did, kiddo. You put _your_ negative emotions for **Beachhead** aside for the sake of the mission, for the sake of the _unity_ of the team. Good work. I had **hoped** this would be the outcome when I arranged for there to only be four chairs and I'm satisfied." Duke informed her, allowing himself to grin; perhaps the General's handpicked Joe would be able to make it past the tests still ahead of her after all. "Now, let's get started..."

-

-

-

"So that's the story. There is no margin of error in this one, boys," the blond Top Shirt concluded; there was a slightly annoyed clearing of a throat and Duke grinned at Mercury, "and girl. Get _in_, get what we _need_, and get **out**. Beachhead will be Team Leader. Mercury, you are recon and communications. If the hijackers open that lab, Airtight is the only one qualified to handle the virus. Tripwire's along in case they've wired the plane or the lab, and Flash is the man to crack the electronic lock if necessary. The access code **changes** every ten minutes."

Duke gestured to the picture of an older man, foreign in nationality on the massive screen behind him; his face was worn and tired, showing him to possibly being older then his years. "This is Dr. Masoud Sharifi, creator of what's been dubbed the 'Death Angel' virus. It's a good bet the hijackers have kept him alive. Let's just hope they haven't pried any information out of him. _CIA_ says he's **expendable**. If he's alive, **I** want you to bring him back."

"I've seen the files on this virus. It's a **flesh-eater**, and works at a _phenomena_l rate. They call it 'Death Angel' because it creates a feeling of **euphoria** in the victim as the effects take hold," Airtight chimed in, leaning forward in his chair, hands gesturing in excitement. Tripwire made a 'ewww' face at the man's intensity and description of the virus.

"Pretty **cool** stuff," Airtight added, either not seeing or ignoring Flash's cringe and the glare Beachhead sent his way. Mercury was paler then normal, her young face twisted into a grimace of revulsion.

"_Freak_," Beachhead muttered softly and saw Mercury – the only one close enough to clearly hear him -- nod her head in agreement, her face still scrunched in disgust of the garish-clad man's enthusiasm of a manmade virus that could potentially kill the team if they made the slightest of errors. Sometimes she wondered if becoming a Joe meant one had to be somewhat insane…

"I guess I'll ask the _obviou_s question," Flash stated, getting Duke's attention by casually raising his hand. "If this virus is so **horrible**, _why _was the Air Force carrying it around anyway?"

"Dr. Sharifi was a top brain for the **Iranian** government, specializing in _biological weaponry_," Duke replied. "At some point, his _conscious_ kicked in and he contacted the CIA with an offer: If they could _protect_ him, he'd turn over the secrets of Iran's bio-weapons program. Sharifi has only been **out** of Iran two days. Some welcome wagon, eh?"

Mercury grimaced. 'Welcome Wagon' indeed. What a way to send the man running back to Iran or some other country that'd love to get their hands on his secrets to use bio-weapons against the United States and her allies…

"You'll drop in at dusk, five miles from the camp. Chopper will be on stand-by, in case you need extraction or an escort," the Top Kick told them.

"Do we wait for Cobra to make the buy **before** we make the hit?" Beachhead asked as he carefully shifted in his chair, his hands on the round table. Mercury was unknowingly leaning against his forearm as she studied the Intel on the monitors, peering intently at the screens, committing the vital information on them to memory.

"That's _your_ call. If you **can** finish the job before Cobra shows up, I'd say go for it." Duke stated, "If **not**, watch and wait and let the bad guys do the work for us."

"What about Chuckles? Is he coming back with us?" Tripwire asked.

Mercury blinked in confusion of the question for a moment before recalling Chuckles was one of their undercover Intel operatives. He was supposed to be good, **very** good, but why he was called '_Chuckles_' of **all** things was still beyond her. Must be an inside joke a rookie like her wasn't privy too…

"You'll have to take your cues from Chuckles on **that** one. He's the one whose neck is on the line here. So that's his decision," Duke replied. "If you extract him, treat him like the enemy. That's hard, I know. But it's for _his_ safety."

Beachhead shifted again and Mercury took that as her cue, rising up off his lap. She stepped to the side as he stood; immediately she heard the scrapping of chairs and saw the other three men rise to their feet from the corner of her eye, following the designated Team Leader's lead. The Ranger crossed his arms over his muscular chest as he waited for dismissal, his mind already calculating several plans of attack. Mercury rested her hands on her hips, raising a pale brow at Duke impatiently, eager for dismissal so she could go kick the asses of those that threatened _her_ nation.

"We don't know **who** we're dealing with here. Stay on your toes and be _careful_." Duke reminded them sternly. "Now grab your gear and hit the slicks!"

-

-

-

_**Location: Five miles from the Wingfield Installation, Colorado**_

Mercury was rather disgruntled; once more there had been limited seating options, so here she was lying across the laps of her four male comrades. Her parachute was secured to her back and she was currently belly down across their legs, playing her GameBoy Advance SP, fingers punching the buttons swiftly, the light from the screen casting an eerie glow on her pale face. The soft bleeps of the game were _barely_ audible over the sounds of Johnny Cash's '_Ring of Fire_' or the sound of the chopper blades.

"Man, what _is_ it with you and that **cow-pie** music?" Flash demanded irritably of Beachhead, shifting his weight in agitation, his hands moving expressively as he vented his frustrations. He flinched when Mercury growled as his hand accidentally struck her shoulder, causing her character on screen to plummet through the air instead of attacking the main villain of the game.

The youngest Joe had to keep from groaning as she rolled her eyes in irritation. Not _this_ **again**! Flash and Airtight had began complaining the very **second** Beachhead strapped in his CD player overhead. Tripwire didn't mind and when they had tried to get her vote, she'd pulled out her GameBoy and gotten as comfortable as possible, essentially giving the burly Ranger her consent; right now she really wasn't in the mood to break the temporary peace with her former trainer over something as **trivial** as his choice in _music_.

"You better watch what you say about Johnny Cash, Boy," Beachhead growled at Flash as he pointed a reprimanding finger at the complaining man over Mercury's head, "If you sissy boys were **half** the man he is, you'd probably get a lot more—"

"Time to drop," Tripwire hastily interrupted the potentially explosive argument and Mercury sighed in relief as she saved her game and turned her GameBoy off and flipping it closed.

Tucking the GameBoy into one of her belt pouches, she shifted, bracing her gloved hands on Beachhead's muscular thigh as she moved; the Ranger stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable with the feeling of the youngest Joe's slender, deceptively delicate hands on him so near his crotch; in the back of his mind he grumbled about how long it'd been since he'd last gotten laid if his body was reacting so strongly to the young Joe's touch. Drawing her legs up under her, Tripwire let out a silent sigh of relief as her slender calves and booted feet slid off his lap allowing the flow of blood in his legs to be unimpeded once more, and while Airtight had to deal with her knees digging in the sliver of space between Flash and himself, he was suddenly awarded with a new view.

As Mercury pushed herself into a stretch to remove the kinks of staying immobile for so long, her rear-end went up before the hazardous environments specialist's face. Behind his protective facemask, Airtight grinned; the gear she wore might have been made to smother her curves when she was moving normally, when she was stretching, it was another thing entirely as he beheld the young Joe's surprisingly shapely rear. Mercury gracefully moved, tumbling off of them onto the chopper floor, her feet making no noise.

"About time too -- I was going to beat my game again," Mercury complained as she finished her stretches, watching as Beachhead carefully stood, turning to switch off his stereo.

"And since **when** do you guys carry _nightsticks_?" The female Private demanded before Beachhead shoved her out of the chopper.

"Women and children first," he drawled as she yelped in protest while falling backwards out of the chopper. Her slender, black-clad body plummeted through the air and she turned midair to look at the pristine white snowy ground beneath her; her screamed profanities drifted back up towards them.

"_Nightsticks_?" Ripcord asked as he raised his brows at the four men, taking in their somewhat uncomfortable state. "Is she _serious_?"

"She's naïve," Beachhead growled as he jumped out of the chopper after Mercury, muttering something vile-sounding under his breath.

"Lift-ticket, you and Ripcord better be ready to pick us up if we holler. No **naps** this time," Tripwire reminded the two in the cockpit of the chopper as Airtight leapt from the chopper.

"No naps, but I _did_ see a nice little watering hole a few miles back though…" Lift-ticket teased.

"We'll save it for the after-party. First round's on **me**," Ripcord promised.

"Hey, Tripwire! If I get squashed make sure my Momma knows I love her!" Flash called to the explosives expert as he leapt from the helicopter.

"Quit worrying, Flash, chopper jumps are a piece of -- oooops!!" Tripwire's reply was cut off with a yelp as he tripped, falling from the chopper.

Five parachutes gently floated to the white earth below, snow whirling about them. Mercury, Beachhead, and Tripwire reached the ground first and were bundling their parachutes as Flash and Airtight floated down.

"Parade in five minutes -- Ah'll take point and Flash is the tail man." Beachhead ordered.

"Nobody said we'd be **freezing** out here! Why didn't they send _Frostbite_?" Flash complained as his boots contacted with the pristine snow.

"Awww, did somebody forget his mittens?" Tripwire teased, finishing burying his parachute in the snow. Beside him, Mercury snickered softly as she covered her parachute, silently contemplating hurling a snowball at Beachhead, before decided to hold to their truce – but that meant **after** they were **done**, it was _open season_ on that big Ranger!

"Cut the chatter you two," Beachhead scolded them in a low voice, holding his weapon at the ready as they moved out, Mercury falling in step behind him. "We don't know how far out their security goes, so pay attention!"

The five Joes walked in silence for a few moments before Airtight quietly spoke up softly, "I have a question."

"Yeah?" Beachhead's grunt was soft.

"What's the firefight protocol as far as Chuckles is concerned?" The Hazardous Environments Specialist asked the question his comrades had been mulling over. "I know it's important to make him _look_ like an enemy, but how far **do** we go? Cobra's gonna be awfully suspicious if we shoot everyone **except** him."

"Chuckles knew the risks when he took the job," Beachhead replied after a moment's thought. "Ah'm not saying to aim for his **head**, but if you have to put a bullet in a friend to save his _life_, Ah don't think you should hesitate to pull the trigger. Being a _professional_ means we can be counted on to do what must be done **every** time, whether we like it or not. You and Ah may not exactly jibe in the Mess Hall, but I **know** you're a professional, same as me and Ah _respect_ that. Ah know you can do the job if you have to."

They traveled in thoughtful silence until they arrived in a grove of trees on a hill above a massive hanger. In front of it, standing illuminated by the powerful outdoor lights were two male guards garbed in white cold-weather gear. The five Joes crouched in the shadows of the bare limbed trees, peering at their target through the lightly falling snow.

"Something doesn't _smell_ right – only **two** guards?" Airtight said softly.

"No joke," Tripwire agreed. "Either these guys are cocky or we're walking into a trap."

"I'm leaning towards it being a **trap** myself. Of course I'm a _paranoid_ lil bitch," Mercury murmured her assessment as she shifted her weight.

"Ah'm gonna take those guards out and have a look-see in the hangar," Beachhead began, not seeing the black-clad form of the young female Joe had already slipped away, making a beeline to the blindside of the hangar. "When Ah signal, Ah want Flash and Airtight to come over. Tripwire and Mercury, you'll cover them, and then join us…" He ordered before noticing they were a Joe short. "_**Mercury**_?! Where the **Hell** is that brat?!"

"Umm…." Tripwire pointed to the front of the hangar right as they heard the sounds of a fight. Turning, Beachhead saw the small Joe securing the two now unconscious guards.

"That little…" Beachhead's eyebrow twitched in rage as he stalked down the embankment. His long strides brought him to her side quickly, right as she was standing and dusting off her gear. "What the **Hell **do you _think_ you were doin'?!"

"Taking down the guards…?" Mercury squeaked as the tall Ranger checked the hangar, bristling anger in his body language. Subconsciously her posture became submissive before his anger, shrinking her petite frame down smaller to make herself a less obvious target.

"_Ah_ was gonna take down the guards! Did you **ignore** mah _orders_?!" Beachhead snarled, giving the signal to Flash and Airtight.

"I didn't hear you, Sergeant Major," she gulped nervously in the face of the enraged Ranger. "I was already moving when you started talking…"

"I don't like it – this is **way** too easy," Airtight whispered to Flash as they ran over to Beachhead, who had taken Mercury's cap and slapped her upside the head with it in chastisement before returning it to her with the promise of even **more** PT when they returned to base.

"I'm trying _not_ to think about it," Flash replied softly.

"Good news – nobody's here," Airtight said cheerfully as the four Joes made their way into the hangar, Mercury hanging back, embarrassed from her chastisement in front of her teammates as she pulled her cap back on. Before them was the missing aircraft, its cargo bay door open.

"Yeah, but why **not**?" Flash murmured, frowning behind his visor.

"Hey, I heard something out there, like trucks coming up the trail," Tripwire informed them as he entered the hangar. "Sounded like they were still off in the distance, but…"

"That should be Chuckles. We need to move this along," Beachhead growled as they moved into the plane, the beams of their flashlights on the walls, searching their surroundings. The beams landed on a massive door sealed with a high-tech electronic lock. "Lets get to work."

After the team finished slipping on their breathers, Beachhead, Airtight, and Mercury stood watch as Flash and Tripwire investigated the door; Flash was working on the lock while Tripwire checked for any explosives wired to the door itself. Moments passed until Flash finally had to give up. Turning to Beachhead, he gave the Ranger an update.

"Tripwire says the doors don't appear to be wired, so this should work just fine," Flash reported, grabbing the strap of his laser rifle. Carefully aiming it, he activated it, cutting into the thick metal. "This may take a minute…"

The sound of the laser cutting into the metal reverberated in the frigid air of the abandoned plane was near deafening in the tight confines. Mercury's pale eyes scanned the plane's cargo bay as she and her teammates stood guard; she nearly jumped when the laser cut off, plunging the plane into silence once more. Turning, she watched Flash and Tripwire kick the door in. Securing his laser rifle, Flash grinned behind his breather, beginning to turn to Tripwire when a glaring spotlight suddenly shone on the small team. Mercury whirled, leveling her weapon at the spotlight. Behind the team stood ten shadow encased silhouettes, which turned out to be men garbed in the same white artic gear as the fallen guards when the Joes' eyes adjusted to the light; they outnumbered the Joe team two to one. Their leader was completely bald with a smug smirk on his cleanly shaven face, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark Rayban sunglasses.

"Thank you _so_ much for your hard work, gentlemen. You've just saved us **quite** a bit of trouble," the bald man stated in a superior tone before looking at one of his men. "Get the virus containers out of there. As for the prisoners, keep them nearby. I want them to see what happens next."

Mercury growled savagely as her rifle was suddenly jerked from her hands; they could take them, she knew they could, but the risk provided by the virus was firm in thwarting them from that course of action. She could hear Beachhead growl when her shoulder was grabbed roughly by one of the men. From the corner of her eye the young Joe could see that her comrades were having their weaponry removed, shoved against the interior walls as they were roughly searched for hidden knives or other forms of surprises. Her jaw clenching, the petite Joe glared up at her captor.

A soft grunt escaped her when she was roughly shoved against the wall beside Beachhead, who gave her handler a dirty look; the big Ranger might have been brutal in training his men on the O-Course, but when it came to searching captives, he didn't approve of casual cruelty; do what needed to be done, do it fast and do it right, was his belief – taking out ones anger on a captive during a search could blind the one performing the search to a hidden weapon. Placing her hands on the wall, Mercury growled silently as she was frisked aggressively, the man's hands moving over her side, waist, and legs. She stiffened when the man's hand ran between her legs; he paused, frowning before shrugging dismissively and continuing. Callously he grabbed her slender wrist and twisted her arm behind her and the petite Joe felt her wrists being bound tightly with rope.

Once they were dragged outside the plane, back into the hangar, Mercury was thrown among her comrades and she rolled deeper into the shadows, gritting her teeth. Shivering with cold, she huddled between Tripwire and Beachhead, grateful for the heat of their bodies in the frigid hanger. To conserve energy, the youngest Joe began to 'shut down', her breathing evening out and heart rate slowing down, slipping into a self-taught trance she'd learned when she was much younger to dull out the pain and extreme temperatures she had to cope with in the abusive foster home she grew up in.

She didn't know how long she rested like this when the soft buzz of their captor's voice and the voices of other men caught her attention. There was the sound of a brief struggle as Mercury shifted her weight slightly, her eyes opening as she came out of her self-induced trance. From the corner of her eye, she saw Beachhead was tense as he stared at the pair of men coming closer. One was the bald captor, the other a man with long brown hair pulled back in a loose tail with a goatee. The lapel pin on his dark suit made him as a Cobra…or _would_ have if the Joes didn't know who he **really** was.

Chuckles.

"If you're the **loyal** supporter of Cobra you _claim_ to be, Mr. Joseph," their captor drawled smugly, taking a semi-automatic pistol from one of his men before passing it to Chuckles, "then you should find this test _particularly_ pleasing."

The glare Chuckles gave the man told him to stop being so melodramatic and get on with what he was trying to say. Mercury silently agreed and would have said so verbally if Beachhead hadn't leaned back suddenly, pressing his weight on her in a silent warning to **behave** and _not_ to attract the attention of their captors; some times it seemed the man could read her mind…or more accurately her _intentions_ through her body language and past history.

"_Prove_ yourself. Prove your loyalty to **Cobra** and your life back from **me**. All you have to do," their captor sneered while pulling back, gesturing to the Joes; Chuckles eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the five bound Joes, "is **kill** one of these men."

Mercury allowed herself a low growl at being called a man, gaining the attention of the bald man. Beachhead lifted his head and glared at him icily, discreetly elbowing her in the side to make her shut up. Swallowing discreetly, Chuckles lifted the weapon and Beachhead transferred his defiant glare to their undercover comrade, his hazel eyes hard, all but telling the other man to **do it** as he shifted his weight, positioning himself before the others of his team.

"I say **again**, Mr. Joseph," their captor snarled, "_kill_ him. **Kill** him and prove your _loyalty_ to **Cobra**!"

Standing in the background were two Crimson Guardsmen, a Crimson Guardsman Immortal, and Wild Weasel. The pilot shifted nervously; killing another in the middle of a battle was one thing – this was out and out murder to his eyes, with the obvious team leader ready to take a bullet for his team, shielding the youngest, smallest member of the team with his own bulk. The kid was probably a greenie on his first or second mission and the leader, who the pilot recognized as Beachhead, must feel responsible for him, something the pilot was quite familiar with concerning his own subordinates.

Mercury gritted her teeth, staring at Beachhead's massive back as he shielded her. '_Damnit, old man!'_ she mentally cursed at him. '_I don't need protection!'_

"Step forward and pull the trigger!" The bald man demanded impatiently, "I'm tired of waiti—"

"Hey, what's that noise?" Wild Weasel interrupted, his keen ears – trained to be sensitive to the sound of the engine of his plane in the bush wars he'd cut his teeth in -- detecting the sound of a motor before the others; the Crimson Guardsmen and the Immortal all jerked towards the sound when it grew loud enough for _them_ to hear as well.

"Look out!" One of the Crimson Guard shouted as the car Chuckles and his Cobra 'comrades' had rode in suddenly barreled into the hanger.

"Scatter!" The Immortal bellowed as they leapt aside, the Joes' captor screaming out in indignation.

"What is **this**?!" The bald man demanded of the Cobra agents.

The two Crimson Guardsmen were struck by the car as the rest of them scattered wildly. Chuckles tackled Beachhead to the cold floor, Mercury's lean form inadvertently breaking their fall.

"Make this look **good**," Chuckles hissed softly to his comrades.

The tires of the black car squealed as the brakes were suddenly applied, the vehicle swinging to a halt between the Joes and their enemies. Mercury could hear the bullets slamming into the side of the car and their captor's voice suddenly rang out in shrill outrage.

"We've been double-crossed! Shoot _**everyone**_!"

"Wingfield, this wasn't **our** doing!" The Immortal protested before a gunshot echoed and he staggered with a hole in his chest.

"Shut up," Wingfield, the bald man holding the Joes prisoner, snarled as the Cobra agent fell to the cold concrete floor of the hanger, the barrel of his weapon still smoking. "We were going to kill _all_ of you anyway."

"Grenade!" One of Wingfield's guards screamed as the small black explosive sudden came flying over the roof of the car.

The grenade exploded, sending the men flying; Wingfield, still clutching the briefcase, slammed into the side of the car. Gasping to recover his breath he braced his weight on the car door. The smoke hid his captives and Chuckles from view, allowing the deep cover agent the chance to free his comrades, while the driver held the two Crimson Guardsmen and Wild Weasel at bay.

"Lose the hardware **now**," the man threatened, leveling his sidearm and hefting a rocket launcher on his shoulder, "or the **plane** and its _cargo_ hit the **atmosphere**, and we go along for the **ride**."

"You're bluffing," Wild Weasel hissed, his sidearm aimed at the driver's head; flanking him, the Guardsmen had their rifles trained on the threat as well.

"Boys, I'm _CIA_… we run nastier ops on **Sunday** than you _women_ do all **year**," the agent sneered, "you think Uncle Sam wouldn't scrub this mission just to _avoid_ embarrassment?"

"Man's got a _point_," Wild Weasel sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he and the two Crimson Guardsmen threw their weapons to the ground.

"The guy with the rocket launcher's on our side," Chuckles whispered to his fellow Joes, "Help him get the Snakes dealt with, then back me up. I'm going after Wingfield."

"Uhhh…" Wingfield groaned in pain, pushing himself to his feet. Looking around at the carnage inside the hangar, he came to a single conclusion: "Time to go."

Chuckles straightened and saw the smoke clearing. He could see Wild Weasel's back, the pilot standing stiff with his hands raised over his head; flanking him were the Crimson Guardsmen. Beyond them stood the agent…and Wingfield making his escape, still clutching the briefcase.

"This is all a diversion! Wingfield's getting away with our money!" Chuckles bellowed, running out of the smoke, leveling his weapon at the fleeing man, providing the freed Joes an opportunity to stay out of the Cobras' sight. The CIA agent turned and opened fire on the fleeing covert operative, adding to Chuckles' cover as a Cobra in the eyes of Wild Weasel and the Crimson Guardsmen.

The undercover Joe's fleeing form vanished and the smoke dissipated enough for the three captive Cobras to see the Joes were free. Beachhead took immediate control of the situation, picking up a weapon dropped by one of Wingfield's men, aiming at the captives.

"That bald bastard'll have more on tha way so be ready," the surly Ranger barked. "Tripwire, start lookin' for our gear. Mercury, gather all the weapons you can find. Flash, Ah'm gonna need you and Airtight to secure the prisoners."

"On it," replied the demolitions expert as he turned and tripped over his own feet. In one smooth motion, he pushed himself back up and scrambled away to begin a sweep for their gear. Airtight and Flash hunted around and found some rope to use on the prisoners, probably left over from their own bondage, while Mercury silently gathered the fallen weapons of the dead.

"We appreciate the help, Agent Caulder," Flash said after the trio of surviving Cobra agents were properly secured. "But why are **we** here, if the CIA is in on this, _**too**_?"

"Beats me. One of our SIGNIT teams picked up a distress call from the plane when Wingfield took control," Agent Caulder replied.

Mercury frowned at the Agent from where she was crouched beside Airtight as they sorted through the weapons she had gathered – while she was nothing more then a rookie, there was just something about this man that didn't seem to sit right…of course, she could simply be picking up from the vibe she was getting from Beachhead, whom was standing at his full height, his muscles visibly tense beneath his nearly skintight shirt. It was something she recognized when one of the Greenshirts tried to pull something over him thinking he was a dumb hick…and it was something that **never** ended well…

"And you just _**happened**_ to find a way to join the **Cobra** team that was coming here?" Beachhead asked, his Alabama drawl dripping with disbelief and a hint of distain at the blatant attempt to lie to them. The towering Ranger leaned forward, a gloved finger in the CIA Agent's face. "Lame _story_, Caulder. You're running a **deep cover** Op here, but what's your objective…the _**Virus**_ or _**Wingfield**_? You **Spooks** may thing we're a bunch of dumb _grunts_---"

"—who can't afford **deodorant** apparently," the Agent cut in with an acidic tone, his thin mustache and lips curling in distain for the Ranger's lack of hygiene.

The young Joe's jaw dropped at the blatant disrespect to her commanding officer from the CIA operative as Beachhead lunged forward, his large fist curling into the lapels of the agent's jacket and hauling him off the ground – it was one thing for the **Greenshirts** to make snide comments and jokes behind the Ranger's back after he pounded them into a pulp on the O-Course, but this guy…! Did he have a _deathwish_ or something?!

"All right, Mister Mouth, why don't we see who's go—" Beachhead snarled, his pupils mere pinpricks in rage and his free hand hauled back and curled into a fist that would have shattered the CIA Agent's face has Airtight not made a desperate lunge and snagged the drawn back arm; Flash's fingers was digging into the thick muscle of the arm and shoulder that was holding Caulder up off the ground.

"Enough of this, **both** of you!" Flash snapped irritably at the quarrelsome pair; honestly he'd have expected this of Beachhead and _**Mercury**_, since the young Joe had a knack for getting under the big Ranger's skin, but not a trained operative like Caulder had appeared to be. "We have a _mission_ here. Save it for **later**!"

"Feh!" Beachhead snorted and when he dropped Caulder, his comrades released him, relief coming off of his subordinates in near-visible waves.

A second later, Tripwire walked into the Hanger, his arms full of their gear; the demolition's expert could feel the tension in the air. "I found our gear stashed in the supply closet! Arm yourselves!"

With an inaudible sigh of relief, Mercury reclaimed her weaponry from her comrade, returning the throwing blades to their respective sheathes as her team checked their weapons for tampering. As they finished, the team began to walk away; Beachhead looked over his shoulder to see her checking over her GameBoy Advance SP.

"Come on, kid," he ordered gruffly. "Take point."

"Yes, Sergeant Major!" Mercury replied automatically, tucking the handheld game system into her belt-pouch and darting forward to rejoin her team, taking the front easily. She could barely hear the conversation between her team leader and the CIA Agent as she lead the team, her rifle at the ready and keeping her footsteps as quiet as possible. Her ears strained as she ignored the sounds of the conversation and she concealed a flinch at… "Beachhead! Weapons fired ahead!"

Almost as one they ran forward, heading for the side door. Mercury went to the side in a low run, taking in the situation as her comrades ran by; one of Wingfield's men was standing over the prone form of Chuckles with his rifle aimed at the fallen man's head, three of his comrades dead and the undercover Joe agent wounded, bleeding in the fight disturbed snow.

Two gunshots echoed as one, one piercing the back of the man and exiting through his heart, the other punching a hole through the back of his head. The dual kill-shots caused the dead man to fall to the ground beside his intended victim.

"Hope you don't mind me jumping **in**," Caulder quipped, a thin wisp of smoke curling up from the barrel of his handgun; kneeling in the snow in front of Beachhead was Mercury, smoke rising from the end of her rifle's muzzle.

"Oh I think I can excuse it this _once_," Chuckles retorted as he rose shakily to his feet.

"Look alive!" Beachhead interrupted, his eyes on the oncoming pair of enemy troopers, "There's more on the way!"

The Ranger tossed one of the two rifles he carried over to Chuckles, whom had a hand pressed to his bleeding side, asking over the oncoming gunfire, "You too proud to use a **Cobra** weapon?""

"Not right **now** I'm not…" Chuckled retorted, catching the weapon one-handed.

Hot lead sliced through the snowy air as the two sides exchanged fire, the pair of Wingfield's militia falling in the onslaught of the Joes and CIA operative's superior numbers; it didn't come easily though, as Flash's snarl of "Owww!" echoed through the cold night air.

"Flash?" Beachhead demanded a sitrep of his subordinate's condition as he turned towards the bunker the enemy had come from.

"I'm **okay**!" The laser-rifle wielding trooper replied, exasperation in his tone as he began to run for the bunker. "Let's just get to the **bunker**."

"You heard the man," Beachhead barked at Chuckles, Tripwire, Airtight, and Mercury as the remaining Joes scanned their surroundings for any more attackers. "Cover us 'til the door is open, then move in!"

As Caulder joined Beachhead and Flash, the four other Joes formed a loose formation with their backs to their teammates, their weapons at the ready as they scanned the surrounding buildings for enemy movement. Chuckles wheezed slightly, the steamy vapor escaping his mouth into the cold night air resembling large puffs rather then the controlled wisps of his fellow Joes. The undercover agent's vision was blurry and the muzzle of his 'borrowed' rifle dipped as his knees began to buckle; he fell back and expected to hit the snow. Instead he heard a grunt as he landed on the newest Joe, whom slid a lean arm around his waist, pulling his arm over her shoulders.

"Hold still," Mercury said, pressing her gloved hand against the wound on his side to stem the flow of the bleeding as she dragged him deeper into cover, Tripwire and Airtight moving to form a tighter formation as Caulder seemed to appear on the other side of Chuckles to help her.

Behind them they could hear the bunker doors open, along with Flash's triumphant exclamation:

"See? I'm _that_ good."

Beachhead and Flash entered the bunker with their weapons at the ready, the Team Leader snarling: "Nobody move!"

Airtight entered behind them, covering the entrance of Caulder, Chuckles, and Mercury, with Tripwire guarding the rear; the young Joe lifted her head, seeing Beachhead and a blonde woman with long hair garbed like one of Wingfield's militia darting from the room as Flash cut the bonds of the missing Iranian, Doctor Sharifi.

Lying on the ground, clutching where he'd been stabbed in the ribs was Wingfield himself. The terrorist snarled out two words as he rolled to his knees: "_**Too late!**_"

With a wobbly lunge at one of the consoles, the bald man coughed violently. "-_koff-_ Initiate _-koff_- Launch sequence!"

With his hand on the console, Mercury felt her stomach drop to her knees at the sound of the computer's mechanical voice: _"Identity verified: Wingfield, Tyler Alan. Launch Sequence initiated."_

"_04:58."_

"You're insane!" Flash screamed, his fist slamming into Wingfield's jaw, sending the terrorist falling into one of the room's many consoles. "_Airtight_! _Tripwire_! Hit the missile bay while I look for an **override**! Mercury, see what you can do for Chuckles!"

"Yessir!" The young Joe grunted as her older male teammates exited the control room in a dead run. She found herself alone in supporting the undercover agent's weight; Caulder had Wingfield up by the collar and was smirking down at his foe.

"Well, the **worm** is really crawling _now_, eh?" the CIA operative sneered. "How's it **feel**, worm?"

Mercury bit back the urge to snarl at him as she tried to keep from dropping Chuckles. To her surprise, Sharifi slid in on Chuckles other side, helping her lower him to the floor as Flash snapped at Caulder.

"Caulder, **shut up** and see if you can help Mercury with _Chuckles_. You got what you **wanted**. This is **our** show now."

"There's a full medical kit onboard the plane in the hangar," Sharifi informed the young Joe and the CIA agent. "Is it safe to take him out there?"

"I can provide cover for you if you can fix him up," Mercury replied before Caulder could speak.

"Good. Let's get him there…" Sharifi murmured as they lifted the undercover agent back to his feet.

"Chuckles, sir, if you can hear me – **hang on**!" Mercury urged her superior through gritted teeth as she and the Iranian refugee dragged him out of the bunker.

"Don't…call me…**sir**…." The older Joe groaned out with a weak laugh, his breath visible, ragged puffs in the night air.

The snow swirled around the trio as they dragged the injured man to the hangar; the sound of pounding footsteps caused Mercury to shift her hold on her wounded superior. One of Wingfield's militia was charging at them as her rifle was pinned – but her throwing knives were a different story. With a near blur of movement, the female Joe pulled on of her small throwing blades from the sheath on her thigh; it whistled through the air before embedding in the oncoming attacker's throat in a spray of arterial blood.

As the man collapsed into the disturbed snow, thrashing for a couple seconds before stilling in the now crimson snow, she and Sharifi returned to their original task – get Chuckles to the plane so they could tend his wounds. They were forced to pause again as the young woman did a visual sweep of the hangar before they entered. Their footsteps echoed as they guided Chuckles up the ramp leading into cargo bay of the plane.

"Can you handle him from here? I'll secure the area so we can work on him in peace…" Mercury murmured.

"Yes, thank you, young man," Sharifi replied as she shifted her grip on Chuckles, not seeing the young Joe's grimace at the older man's incorrect assumption.

"If you need an extra set of hands, call out for me. I'm Mercury," the young woman replied gruffly.

As the Iranian carted her wounded superior off further into the bowels of the plane, she slid into the shadows of the open cargo bay door, her dark gear and black-painted rifle blending with the shadows as she watched for any movement in the far corners of the hangar. Not seeing any, she retreated, following Sharifi's path into the interior of the plane.

The lab they had broken into had a table that the Iranian bio-chemist was helping Chuckles up onto; her superior was groggy from blood loss and she set her rifle aside to assist the older Joe. Sharifi passed her a pair of scissors to remove Chuckles's bloodied jacket as he grabbed the medical kit. The young Joe spared a glance and arched a brow at the kit's contents – when the Iranian had said it was fully equipped, he hadn't been exaggerating.

With the deep-cover agent's jacket cut off and tossed aside, she stepped out of Sharifi's way to allow him access to treat the more severe injuries to Chuckles's torso. She stopped at where the blood caused the material of his pants to cling to his thigh and with a quick _snip-snip_, gained access to the injuries. Like all Greenshirts, she had undergone some basic first aid and was relieved to see only a flesh wound on her superior's thigh; that she could handle.

The air was tense as the duo worked and the only words spoken were for the supplies on the medical kit between the American and Iranian. As Mercury secured the gauze around his right thigh, she saw from the corner of her eye Sharifi still working on Chuckles's torso; without a word, she moved to tend to what looked to be a flesh wound on his left shoulder.

"Sir? Can you hear me?" Mercury asked as she gained access to the flesh wound.

"Nnnh…." Chuckles groaned softly. "Which are you…?"

"Mercury, sir. You're going to be fine, mostly flesh wounds from my uneducated guess. I'm no Lifeline…" she murmured softly as she cleansed the wound.

"We'll need to get him to sit up so I can wrap him," Sharifi interjected softly.

"Understood, sir."

Within moment the pair was carefully helping the deep-cover agent sit up; between the two of them, they securely wound the remaining bandages from the kit around the older Joe's abdomen and up to cover his injured left shoulder. Chuckles seemed more alert, looking around with the ingrained paranoia of all veteran undercover operatives.

"I'm good. Let's get outta here…" he murmured, his words only slightly slurred.

"Yessir," Mercury replied, gliding around the table as he swung his legs over.

She and Sharifi supported his weight as he slipped off the table; carefully, ever mindful of his wounds, they helped him from the laboratory back into the cargo bay of the aircraft; as they descended the loading ramp, they could hear the sound of an explosion and felt the slight tremors resulting in the metal under their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Mercury hissed, scanning the hangar warily as she and the bio-chemist hauled Chuckles towards the open hangar door. As they approached the doorway, they heard the familiar sound of helicopters beating down on the compound. Exiting the hangar, Mercury sighed in relief.

"Its ours," she informed her wounded superior and the Iranian. "We won!"

The next few minutes were a blur as she helped load Chuckles and Sharifi into a medical transport; when things calmed down, she found herself looking at Beachhead's back. He was laughing along with the other males of her team, his mask off – Airtight had his helmet off, tucked under his arm. The petite Joe leaned over, scooping up a handful of snow, her eyes trained on the back of the Ranger's dark head. Flash caught sight of what she was doing and elbowed Tripwire, then Airtight. Beachhead saw their antics was aimed at something they saw behind him and as he turned, he caught the loosely packed ball of slushy snow square in the face.

The cold, wet slush dripped off his face and vaguely the Ranger could make out the laughter of his comrades behind him; wiping his eyes, he caught sight of his young nemesis standing a few feet before him with slush clinging to her gloved fingers and a surprised expression on her face. His lips pulled back in a silent snarl, hazel eyes hard as he ground out one word:

"_Run."_

With that, the young Joe was running for her life screaming bloody murder with the angered Ranger hot on her heels; they kicked up slush and snow as they ran past Caulder and his female partner, weaving through various Greenshirts in the chase, Beachhead bellowing profanity and threats at the youngest member of his team, her wails of "He's gonna _**killll**_ me!" and "I didn't **mean** to hit you in the _face_…!" echoing in the snowy night air.

-

-

-

_Later that week…_

Mercury's unabashed staring from where she sat at his right hand was getting on Beachhead's nerves. A muscle in the Ranger's jaw twitched as he glared at her, grinding out an annoyed, "What?!"

"Beachhead in civvies. World's endin'… World's endin'…" the young Joe said with a mock wide-eyed innocence stare, making her teammates crack up in fits of laughter at their team leader's expense.

"Why you lil brat!" The Ranger growled, taking a rather lazy swat at the petite young woman; she ducked in time for his bare fingertips to barely brush her short nearly platinum blonde hair.

"Gotta be faster then that, old man!" The female member of the team taunted, resting her elbows on the table beside her plate. The pushed up sleeves of her thick gray fleece sweatshirt bared her pale forearms and under the white table cloth, one of her booted feet tapped impatiently; she hated having to waited for the bathroom and the lodge they were in only had single stalls. She seriously contemplating using the men's room if the waitress took any longer; in the back of her mind, the young Joe figured she was probably touching up her makeup due to the 'cute' guys the young Joe was sitting with.

The entire team was in civilian wear, their faces bared for all to see and their trained forms barely hidden under the non-military clothing, but for the youngest of them, seeing the Drill Instructor from Hell in blue jeans and a turtleneck sweater had been a real eye-opener. So the sweater was similar to some of what he normally wear, but the blue jeans...the blue jeans looked like he'd been almost poured in them, clinging to his powerful legs; silently she was surprised he was able to move around as gracefully as normal before mentally denying even looking at him below the waist.

She fidgeted before asking without thinking: "Are any of you going to the bathroom?"

"What?" Tripwire asked in surprise, his brows raised at her unusual question.

"That woman is taking forever and the men's room is unoccupied," she explained her bizarre question. "Are any of you needin' to go?"

"I'm good," Ripcord replied, amused by the young Joe's pragmatic attitude.

At hearing negative's to needing the use of the men's room, she practically leapt to her feet, her chair rocking as she did. Mercury lived up to her codename, speeding to the unoccupied men's room; a moment later, the waitress exited the women's room, still preening by smoothing her now loose dark hair back from her face. As she discretely adjusted her top, the waitress made her way over to the Joes' table. Moments later, the young Joe exited the men's room, running a hand over her short, spiky hair the same second as Tripwire got fed up with the news report on the television.

"I'll _**tell**_ you what we're _not_ being told!" The demolitions expert yelled, waving a donut threateningly at the face of Hector Ramirez. "**Maybe** it's the part about _Flash_ saving the day, or the three **Cobras** who were **arrested**, or the **brave** explosives expert who was prying open _warheads_ with a **pocketknife**…!"

"**Bitter** much, Tripwire?" Rpcord asked dryly.

"Stop **wasting** food or else -- superior or not -- I'll _punch_ you!" Mercury snapped as she sat down, she gave the clumsy explosives expert a dirty look, gaining looks of surprise from her fellow Joes.

"Calm down, kiddo…Just annoyed that Ramirez is running his mouth again…" Tripwire laughed uneasily, the glare she sent his way downright intimidating coming from such a small teenaged girl; although with the loose sweatshirt and the worn tight blue jeans she wore, she looked more masculine then feminine... Hesitantly he offered her a donut. "Donut?"

"…thanks," she accepted the peace offering for what it was and swallowed it down in three huge bites, washing the pastry back with a chug of her soda.

"Kid, no offense, but you eat like a pig," Flash said in amusement.

"I _like_ food. Grew up where wastin' was a big offense and supplies were low," the young Joe stated matter-of-factly as she grabbed the leg of the turkey before Beachhead, whom was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest watching her from the corner of his eye. "I'm not a bag of bones because I **want** to be."

"You aren't _that_ skinny…" Tripwire placated the young woman.

"True. I looked worse before. Joining the Army let me _put_ on some weight!" The rookie agreed, gnawing happily on the turkey leg. "What'd that bonehead Ramirez get you riled about, Trip? I hear you're normally very Zen…"

"Oh his usual bullshit about why the public wasn't informed about the missing plane, and leaving out about our color of Wild Weasel and those Crimson Guard goons," Lift-Ticket informed her of what she missed. "Praised those two CIA agents and neglected us Joes of course."

"Hmph. What a jerk…" Mercury mumbled around the turkey leg while Flash noticed the team leader's dark look.

"Come _on_, Beachhead. Lighten **up**, man," the laser-trooper cajoled the Ranger.

"I'm _fine_, Flash," the Ranger insisted. "I'm just thinking about **Chuckles**."

"Where _is_ he, anyway?" Ripcord asked, echoed by Lift-Ticket's soft "…yeah."

Mercury grunted in agreement as she washed down a mouthful of turkey. "Yeah, how is the victim of my first attempt to patch someone up? I didn't screw up so badly he's cooped up in the infirmary with those vampires, right?"

"He decided to go back **in**," Beachhead informed them, causing Mercury to choke.

"No **way**…" Tripwire agreed with the young Joe, who was pounding on the table as she tried to get the combined liquid to go back down the right pipe with tears trickling down her cheeks until Flash gave her a strong smack on the back. "You've _got_ to be kidding."

"Don't **do that** when I'm swallowing, old man!" Mercury wheezed, tears welling in her eyes; coughing she muttered a soft '_thanks_' to Flash, whom nodded in a distracted manner, his eyes on the Ranger.

"It's true, I heard it from Duke this morning." Beachhead confirmed, ignoring the youngest of the Joes' threats.

"So what happens to him now?" the explosives expert asked.

"**Wild Weasel** and the two Crimson Guardsmen were interrogated _alone_, and they think Chuckles was given the same treatment," the burly Ranger sighed, picking up his water. "Now they're off to **Blackwater Prison**, pending trial. That's where Chuckles is staying, until _Cobra_ breaks him _out_ or tries to have him **killed**."

He took a sip of water, tilting his head back; his Adam's apple, visible in the gap between his turtleneck and flesh bobbed slightly and Mercury found herself staring before shaking herself out of it as he continued, "That's one **brave** man there. Hangs out in the _snake pit_ to feed us Intel, and goes to _prison_ to convince Cobra Command he's loyal. It's _one_ thing to pick up a gun and fight, but…to go into the enemy's **house** and fight from the _inside_? That's a **hard** man. The kind of man you **admire**. The kind you _observe_…but every night, you _pray_ he never **snaps**. And being _strong_ enough to handle that life…**nothing** makes him a **hero** more then that."


End file.
